Madame Valerius Is Dead
by the yellow flower
Summary: Prior to the events of Leroux's original novel, Christine's adopted benefactor passes away sooner than expected. Fearing the fate that threatens a simple chorus girl in her position, this poor young woman turns to the only one she has left...and the equally fallen Angel Of Music is all too keen to embrace her. COMPLETE.
1. Entires 1-4

**Authors Note & Preface:**

 **T** his story came about when I was trying to find more Leroux period based fics and couldn't find any new and honest ones around. As an authors note, and a disclaimer, this story is written within the social constructs of later 1880's Paris, France. I have read of many outgoing and feminist Christine's who valiantly stand up to Erik as an equal on all accounts...however...I do not feel that is the true character of Christine in the original novel (as much as I love to read fics about them!). This short story is more dedicated to the difficult times performers had to face being of low, possibly middle, class in the world where if they were not a respected diva, they were considered ballet "rats." The fact is, without labor unions, laws to protect women as human beings, and the constant danger of a theatre going up in flame, it was a terrifying time for the theatre world. It is within this context that I write this story.

As you can already tell, this story starts out at M for mature relations. That said, there will be no rape in this story as I do not believe Erik (in all his terror) would ever do that. In his way, he will always ask consent and in Christine's way, she will or will not grant it and he will listen. This is why he poses as a respectable choice for her as a poor chorus girl living in a huge city. If you find this story offensive, I understand and respect your decision not to continue reading it

I do not, nor will I ever, claim ownership of these characters as they are pure property of Gaston Leroux.

 _Entries 1-19 revised and updated 5/12/2017 for clarity and some character choices!_

 **Madam Valerius Is Dead**

 _"Why, you love him! Your fear, your terror, all of that is just love and love of the most exquisite kind, the kind which people do not admit even to themselves. The kind that gives you a thrill when you think of it."_ \- Raoul de Changy, Leroux

 **Entries 1-4**

 **First Entry**

I have been married this night. This, I feel, is justification for my newly found interest in writing my thoughts. My fears peak at the ever maddening thought that he may find my words and disapprove. He will surely disapprove. You see, he is within the understanding that there should be no secrets between us. He believes that if I am to be an honest woman, that I will share all with him, my every terrible thought. He must know that to do this would be impossible. It would surely break his heart. And I realize after such a short time, that I am his heart. I am the very beating that it retains and without me, he would have none. However, as many men on their last terrifying breath would do, he holds on to me, his beating heart, and I fear that this is a truth I will never escape.

I mustn't let him see the tears that possess my eyes this evening as I write by a dimming, shall I say, _damning_ , flame. This poor candle has been my source of sanity these few weeks as I try to make sense of how my life turned in this direction. Even as he will swear he is the evil creature to obscure my pure thoughts, I know that it must be I who has chosen my fate. Poor Mama Valerius is dead, her last trust of money spent on keeping myself and our maid. How short sighted I have been to believe that I could ever earn enough at the Opera to sustain us all. He was right, as he so often is. He is the only honorable option I will ever have.

This might explain why I find myself in such conditions for I am five floors beneath the living world. Only once had a patron approached me to take me to dinner. As I understood my husband to be the voice of my angel at the time, the voice was all too keen to reveal to me that this man, while doting very fine pleasantries of garments and jewelry, was the very man who had been the cause of tears for a younger woman in the corps who had come back to the dormitories one late evening with deflowered blood between her legs. I was so frightened of such a fate. As I know that many in the Opera either tie themselves to patrons for income or eventually become mistresses, occasionally married, I, being of such a lowly station and barely making a face for myself in the chorus was terrified of never being honored with a respectful marriage.

My life arrangement, despite my tears that smear these lonely words, has proven to be the best thing that could have happened to me. My husband, while he is not a gentleman or any man of status, does take great care to meet my needs. I feel that while I will never again have to wonder what it would be like to have fine clothing, food, or accessories, I will also yearn for that I cannot have. I have grown so pale, so deathly pale, and I only know this when I am escorted to the stage for my rehearsals and can catch glimpses from those who have worked with me for years. It is enough for me to find myself staring longingly at my dressing room mirror, wondering where my father's daughter has fled to. The sunlight, how awful I have been to ever have taken it for granted.

Dear thought keeper, I must retire you for the evening. My candle flickers and wanes and he knows that I will call for him when it extinguishes. The darkness in this lonely place is a reality that I still cannot muster to face without his golden glowing eyes to help me pass through it. And yet, how awful I am to admit that this evening terrifies me beyond anything I ever could have reckoned for. It will be damning for me to refuse him this evening as he has been refused so much in his sad life. His long thin fingers will reach for me and I will feel their coldness on my skin as I will silently beg my limbs not to shiver for he will cry if I do. His tears, his sad words, are chapters I wish not to write.

Goodnight depressive thoughts, I tremble to write that my wedding consummation awaits.

 **Second Entry**

It has been three evenings since I was last able to record my secrets. He has refused to leave my side, refused to leave my private thoughts, and my vision now seems incomplete without him within its perimeter. Once again, I find myself cursing my being. I have heard such terrible things that happen to young women when they are first taken by a man. The girl that I have mentioned previously had bruises on her arms, her throat was sore from screams, and even as she had recovered and gone back to him, she was never the same. This was not an uncommon scene to witness as we performers are considered such very low class without a wealthy, ravenous, patron.

On the night of our wedding, as soon as my candle burnt into smoke with its heat leaving my face all too quickly, my husband's name escaped my lips in merely a whisper. So many nights when my candle burned its last, he would come so quickly having heard his name on my lips, however, this night I found myself calling for him a second time. For once, I actually heard his usually silent footsteps and they shuffled across the carpeted floor of my room. Slowly, his eyes left the floor and made their way towards mine as I sat at the Louis Philippe vanity he gifted to me. He stayed by the door and I didn't know what to say. The silence loomed and suffocated me and I was feeling lost and cold. His name escaped from my mouth a third time.

He made his way to me, his eyes meeting the height of my shoulders as he fell to his knees. His cold skeletal hands encompassed mine and he pleaded with me. I can still hear the dejected words in his flawless voice in my head, "Will you deny your poor monster, Christine? Will you deny your Erik after you have sworn your obedience to him? Sworn your life to me as my wife in front of the Almighty!" His head, his unmasked death face, was now rotting over my hands, our hands, and warm tears fell into my lap. Such words of passion did not stop so easily once he had begun, "My Christine, my love, will you be so kind to your faithful husband? I will never allow any spawn to come from me, I swear to you that you will never have to look at another creature of mine, I swear this, my love, my heart."

How much harder he made this by reminding me that his exterior would never be pleasing! My head fell back to look up into the darkness, my eyes praying to see beyond what the darkness had granted before me. I bit my lip to withhold my sobs, my hands in fists beneath him to hold my shoulders from shaking. How dare he ask me to be strong as he now kneeled before me, a sobbing terrifying mess for me to clean up! I was prepared to have to quietly lay as he took his right from me, but _this_!

"You are my wife," he continued, "Christine, you are my heart and my only. You will never want for anything, my queen, I swear this, my love." His voice will forever ring in my ears, "I will never harm you. I will be so gentle, I swear I will not be any more of a monster than I already am. Please Christine, please…"

It became clear that I had to be the one to continue with my fate. What honest wife, even in these circumstances, would deny their husband in such a way? Despite my pieces of innocence, I knew what happened on a pair's wedding night. I knew that if I were to survive in this cruel world that I needed someone who would not throw money at me only to leave me in the gutter for aging too quickly. Frustration gripped me and I suddenly wanted everything to end. Terrifying as it was to grasp, I would have to be the one to set forth to end it.

Grasping at air that I had not taken throughout his time at my lap, I finally looked down into the darkness, my sense of touch the only way to advance. Pulling his head towards mine, I closed my eyes and placed my forehead to his, doing everything in my nature to breathe with my mouth to block the smell of his decayed skin from my nose. He shuttered in my hands and I shook with him as I whispered the only words I knew to say, "As your wife, I shall not deny you this night or any other."

He had kissed me only once before this when we were wed. The old blind priest had instructed him to do so and I closed my eyes as he lifted his black mask just high enough to lay his thin split lips lightly on my forehead. At that time, I remembered kisses from my father, my mama, and even a childhood sweetheart. With lips, it is possible to close and pucker them, however, as Erik hardly has enough skin to cover his teeth, I recalled feeling rough bone on my forehead rather than what I remembered feeling in the past. I repressed and shiver as he gently held my head t his. When he pulled away he whispered something about my not having died, something about a living wife.

I mention this as it was the same feeling from him, but this time it was on my cheek as he wound his hands into my hair so that he could keep his head on mine longer. How relieved I was for the darkness then as it hid fear and disgust on my features. As his mouth was already so close to my ear, he began to sing softly. The words may have been Russian, I do not recall them. His voice, its hypnotic quality that it holds, elicited a free flow of air in and out of my lungs.

He held this connect with my face and my ears as I was slowly brought to my feet, his song working me to move my shaking limps as I was lead the few footsteps that it took to get to the bed. As the back of my knees bumped into the wood frame, a shutter ran from them and up my spine. His music shook with it and I took in the feel of his protruding jaw and cheek against my face. As the song continued, his face left mine, the sound in my ears never changing as it continued to hum into my brain, fighting my fear so that I would not have to.

My body was pulled to his bony torso, my head cradled in his long encompassing hands. We stayed in this embrace, my breath soon following the leads of his as his steady exhales even as his pounding heart thumped closely to my head. His song continued, refrain after refrain until I felt myself relax into the music, into _him_. I cannot say I recall my knees failing me and my form falling to the bed. However, once my weight had changed, I do remember trying to chase it back to my feet.

He followed my position, was sitting beside me, his long arm stretched around my shoulders, keeping my close, his forehead touching mine once more as he ran his chilled free hand up and down my forearm. We stayed in this position for just as long, if not longer than we had the last one until my breath was steady and my mind was buzzing as if nearing intoxication. No, no, that is incorrect. We did change our orientation at some point, for I recall both of his hands covering my forehead and my hair being brushed to one shoulder. He must have thought I was more relaxed then I was for even as he continued to hum, I couldn't suppress a shiver as I felt his mouth kiss me more than a few times on my exposed neck.

More refrains, more music in my ears. The effect was growing and I embraced it, giving way to whatever I could to escape the truth of the evening. His hands had left my arms, had covered my stomach, pulling me to his chest again, his soft syllables holding closely to my ears. Cold, free flowing air began to slip its way onto my chest as buttons were carefully undone. Soon I was not able to differentiate the cellar breeze from his chilling hands as he kept me close to him. Perhaps it was better that I could not.

When his hands finally worked in sequence to bring my bare back to the bed, I expected to see his eyes above me. No, I was wrong. He was either keeping them closed to staying beside my ears. Despite his thin frame, I felt the pressure of his body on top of mine and I wished that it would be enough to suffocate me into unconsciousness. It was not. Despite the music filling my head to the brim with pretty notes, I remember everything.

It was not as painful as I could have imagined, nor was it at all pleasurable. How strange it is to feel nothing but a monthly ache from such a small vital place on ones body then to suddenly feel it filled. I have never been one to wonder what lay nestled below my belly and above my knees. It has only been a monthly requirement to uphold to avoid embarrassment. While it seemed such a funny thing to wonder over within opera jokes and whispered gossip, I never felt a need to really do anything about it. It was just there…was there. Now I can't seem to ignore it. How ironic, perhaps cruel, it is to never feel a need for anything there, to suddenly feel it filled, and now it is empty without him.

He was so very gentle with me, I remember this. Even as his pretty song faltered from his physical exertion, I did not feel such terrible pain. Skin against skin. Movement, pace, a change in tempo, my gasp, his shutter, and a warm liquid covering a small place on my thigh that he quickly wiped away from a soft fabric that may have been a handkerchief. And just like that, it was over.

I didn't know what to say. I didn't want to move and so he moved from on top of me. From beyond the bed, I heard him rustling with his clothing. The song had ended and my body was now cold and exposed to the air once more. Tears were coming to my eyes. I felt as though I were some kind of toiletry simply to be disposed of after use. My body curled and my hands began to search in vain for my chemise.

His coming closer to me was not heard. Before I could let out a sob, I felt the soft cotton material being brushed over my head and arms as if I were a child in need of assistance in dressing. Somewhere in between, he had found the time and ability to button all of those buttons so that I wouldn't have to. Unconsciously, I hugged the thin material close to me as I wrapped myself in my arms. Before too much more time could pass, my limp body was being scooped into his arms as he carried me to a more natural sleeping position on the opposite side of the bed.

As he laid me down, he gently pulled the comforter and sheets up to my chin, his golden eyes were level with mine as he kneeled beside the bed. A hand reached out and softly stroked my cheek, removing the tears that stained it. "Has Erik harmed his wife?" he asked, sorrow dripping from every word, "Has he abused her?"

It took me a second to really assess if there had, in fact, been any damage. There was the physical emptiness that I have spoken about before and yes, my, um, well _it_ was sore, but I couldn't feel any blood, at least, not really. There wasn't a tenderness around my thighs or anywhere else that I could gather if I had been bruised. No, I was, in fact, fine. Not wishing to so cruel as to lie to him, I shook my head against his cold hand.

"Has he…frightened her?" he pressed on, seeming to refuse to speak in first person as if he could not deal with the thought.

"A little," I whispered, "I've never done…I didn't know that…"

His eyes showed him nodding, "Christine is a very good and innocent woman. Erik is so happy to have her as his living wife. She is so beautiful, the most beautiful woman to ever walk. He will be her slave forever until she is happy." He ran his fingers through my hair and for once, the motion was relaxing after everything that had just transpired. Words drifted into the air, "My love."

The feeling of his fingers slowly running through my hair calmed me into closing my eyes. This consisted until sleep was so close I wanted to embrace it despite my mind keeping me tied to earth. It was at this point that he attempted to leave and my feeling of calm and empty mindedness left with his soft fingers as he made his way to the door.

"You're going to leave?" I asked quietly. I saw his golden eyes stop before exiting as he turned to me, curiosity behind them. I continued sheepishly, "I'm…not asleep yet."

He must have understood for he returned to pet my tired head as he had before. For once, it was with his help that I was finally able to drift into a dreamless sleep. His last words drifting around me, "My brave girl."

 **Third Entry**

For four days I spent my night times alone. The first evening, I stayed up later than I usually do for I expected him to return to my room as the had the first night of our marriage. Exhaustion overtook me with time and I found myself in bed, the candle being the last thing I saw before dreams that reminded me of the previous night overtook me. The second and third night were the same. However, this past evening, I no longer found myself alone and curious.

I feel it necessary to mention what my days have been like. Erik has been so dastardly kind to me. Every meal is plated with a delicate hand as if it had come from a prestigious restaurant. Our mornings are spent doused in music, our voices filling every crevice of this small estranged house. Afternoons are spent in the Study where he will tell me elaborate stories of his travels across Europe and the Middle East. He will spin them to create funny punch lines and morals, however, now that I think of them without his words and phrases, I can't help but realize how sad many of them are. He told of a beggar woman losing her arm for picking a pear off the ground, a man taking his life from trying to fly out of a window with a supposed magic carpet, or another man who turned himself into a machine within a palace so that he could maintain control over one place where the Shah could not. Hindsight makes me want to curse myself for laughing at such terrible stories.

If he wasn't taking my attention with his stories, he was entertaining me with very clever parlor tricks. His abilities with a deck of cards are masterful and I still have no clue how he is able to make small coins appear all over the room without moving. Hours pass very quickly with him and every night I was very exhausted by the finish of supper, hardly able to even make it back to my room. However, by the fourth day, I found myself yearning for a fraction of time where I would not be constantly within his world.

I requested yesterday afternoon if I might take a book to read. He very quickly offered to read it to me, saying that he could have been a very good masked thespian if he were only born two hundred years prior. I smiled lightly, but I wanted peace. To be honest, I wanted a bit of time to hear my own thoughts in my head for once and a book would be a proper way to appear as if they weren't. As kindly as I could, I told him that all of his attentions were beginning to wear on me and I didn't want to approach a place where I could not perform for the next opera.

"Erik's wife needs rest?" He asked me slowly, strangely and I nodded. He continued, "And if he allows her to be alone, she will not be so weary of him later?" If only I were smart enough to grasp what "later" meant! Alas, I did not catch on to what he was insinuating. A smile crossed my features as I nodded. That spiraled him into a tearful rant. He took my hand in both of his, kneeled before me, and held my hand to his decrepit cheek.

"Christine will never know how happy she makes her poor husband. She is so good to him and so pretty when she smiles," I felt his warm tears on the back of my hand, "You are my angel Christine, my only light from God, my love, my love."

"Please do not cry anymore, Erik." I managed to stumble out, "You make me sad when you cry."

He nodded, muttering something about tears of happiness, but I couldn't bare to see them any longer no matter what kind of tears they were. A smile crossed my features once again as he stood, lay a long kiss on the back of my hand before letting it go. He told me he would leave me to read so that he would be able to present me with pretty things within a few hours. Not because I am vain, only because I wanted the time to myself, I nodded again and let him leave.

Come supper time, he had returned with various boxes in his arms, ribbons tied neatly around them. Food, as I know he hardly eats and has never done so before me, is a requirement he doesn't always see fit to carry through. I was fortunate to have snacked on a slice of bread and cheese while he was away otherwise, I would not have received any dinner at all. He insisted that I go to the study to open everything that he had given me.

There were colorful hats, intricately designed broaches, new threads and designs for my cross stitching, and pearl earrings all laid out before me by the end of the evening. Even as I smiled and answered the overly repeated question, "Does Christine like her gifts? Does she want to stay with Erik as he will always want to give pretty things to his lovely wife?"

Needless to say, as the evening went further into the night, I found myself just as exhausted, if not more, than I had been in previous nights. Blindly, I told him I thought it was time for me to retire. For the first time that evening, he quieted and nodded slowly. The sudden change baffled me and I did my best to smile when I whispered, "Goodnight, husband." Looking back on this night, I could swear I heard him whisper into the air, "So it shall be."

I was already dozing in bed when I sensed him enter. The candle was still lit on my nightstand as I must have forgotten to blow it out before sleep fully overtook me. My heavy half open eyes watched him make his way to the candle to extinguish it with a puff of his breath. His eyes soon fell to my level and he must have known that I was awake for even as I shut mine to try and pretend, his long fingers began to weave into the hair behind my head and over my neck. I shuttered at the chill of his skin.

"My wife is not so tired," I wasn't sure if he was begging or not, "She is not so tired. She told him that she would not be if he left her alone for a short while and he did. He brought her so many pretty things…" His voice dragged on, as I felt a hand over my forearm, "Christine is so beautiful."

This time he did not sing, he did not wait, he simply made his way on top of me, slowly pulling the comforter down and my chemise up higher and higher to expose my bare legs. His hands were first very light over my skin and it was like the touch of a ghost. Once my chemise was up high enough, he moved the tips of his fingers from the base of my left breast down to my navel and then around to the small of my back where he lifted me gently to meet him. I only knew him to surely be a man when he pressed his sex up to mine and I tensed as I was suddenly wide awake and all too sure of what was to come. This time, however, as I was not relaxed in the slightest, he had to push himself hard against me I whimpered and clenched in discomfort when he entered me.

The sound seemed to bring him to attention and he stopped moving. I could still feel him, long and hard within me, filling me, and I shuttered and clenched my jaw when I looked up to him. His eyes lowered to mine and I felt his mouth on my forehead. The weight of his thin body rested upon me as he smoothed my hair away from my face with his free hand. He then wrapped his arm around the back of my neck and whispered into my ear, "Fear not my brave girl. Be calm."

If this had been any other living person on earth, such words would have done the exact opposite. Dear thought keeper, if only I could convey to you just how strongly the simplest of words from him can affect me! His words can evoke such terror and sadness, but they can also quiet my frayed thoughts faster than anything I can think of. He spoke such kind tranquil words to me that my shaking ceased and my eyes closed. The feeling of him within me became less intense as my body loosened and when he finally moved his hips again, my reaction was a mere gasp.

In time, he straightened his arm away from my neck and I could look into his eyes above me. His two golden eyes were peering down to me as if strained as his pace continued. Even in a far more relaxed state from when the event started, I could not relate to whatever he was feeling. Why would anyone ever want to do this? How could he be feeling such pleasure from my indifference? How could any man? And why was it that women still smile at men in the halls and on the streets after they've been deflowered? Was it all a lie? Some play for the men?

Finally, a shutter traveled up his spine and he pulled himself from me, the warm liquid once again staining my upper thigh only to be quickly brushed away with a foreign cloth. My chemise was pulled over my legs again, my body was covered with the comforter just as it had been. My mind, as it tries to protect my sanity, wishes me to believe such accounts are simply uninterpreted dreams and even as his beautiful voice eventually lulled me into sleep that evening, I write these words as fact to that which is sure to happen again and I will be at a loss for what I am to do.

 **Fourth Entry**

I was fortunate enough to be able to return to Mama's house one last time before everything was sold off. Erik had asked if I had wanted anything and assisted me in carrying out a few boxes of items that were special to us. Her estate will be going to Master Valerius' second cousin whom I have met only once before. Most of the items that I sought to take with me I showed to them, some of them that while expensive if sold, were priceless to me. It was there that I was able to pull out an old notebook from the dusty office and it is within this empty book that I write to you now. I suppose I will add my previous pages from this week to this book tonight.

I have been a wife for a week, my husband has visited me in the night only twice, and I now have more hats, brooches, and jewelry than I'll ever know what to do with. You must understand that while I do not know if I am capable of loving this man as he loves me, I am grateful for all that he has done. In the large scheme of things, he asks so little of me as a wife. I am not required to do chores, or cook, or anything that a typical wife is expected to do to earn her keep. His only requirement for me is to stay with him and seeing as I have nowhere else to go, that isn't so difficult to do.

For this reasoning, I am lucky and grateful. He is a respectful man and as gentle as he can be. I do not know if I will ever be able to enjoy our times in the dark, but seeing as he has so much to offer me, perhaps one day I will become unshaped by them. Mama herself told me that a man has to learn how to please a woman and that can take plenty of time. She said that was what a marriage was for when two people were alone: to really learn each other. I am ashamed to admit that I am afraid to "learn" any more of my husband's physical traits.

It was nice to be out in the sun today. While Erik stayed in the darkness of the carriage with my boxed items, I took a walk in a nearby park. It was a bit colder than what I would have preferred. Winter will be arriving soon. But still, it was the sun, all of my needs have been met, and despite how I always thought things would be, I know that I am well taken care of with my husband.

 _A/N: FF authors receive pay for their stories through your reviews, follows, and favorites. Thank you for your consideration :)_


	2. Entires 5-6

**Entires 5-6**

 **Fifth Entry**

For the first time since I've known Erik, he was reluctant to let me return to rehearsals for the next opera. When I mentioned the date yesterday and that rehearsals would be starting, he turned his back to me and muttered something that I could not comprehend. Instead of letting me ask him to clarify, he began the introduction to another song on the organ. I complied to singing, but once the song was over, he immediately went into another and another until my stomach was groaning and my feet could hardly keep me where I was. It was at this time that I begged, "Erik please!"

I can still see him, his shoulders moving up and down as he was out of breath from playing, his slow turn, his gold eyes once towards the keys made their way to meet just below mine as if he did not want to entirely face me. A sad realization ran over me and I asked him if he intended to retire my life on stage for domestic life. This is typically the arrangement for all other married couples that grip at middle-class society. I assume that Erik achieves at least that status with the gifts he bestows, perhaps even better than that, however, I do not feel it my place to have reason to question this without his feeling offense. As these facts ran through my mind, I asked him if he intended for me to retire from performing at the opera.

"You will be in the chorus no longer." He said with a business like tone, "You status has risen." I looked at him critically, "I do not intend to keep my aspirations for you confined to this grave. As much as I wish to have you alone for me always, your face does not deserve a prison that mine requires. You will return to rehearsals, tell no one of our marriage, but you must always wear your ring so that I know you are my wife. Does this suit you?" I nodded and he took me to the kitchen for a simple midday meal.

That afternoon he took to entertaining me in spurts, showing me how to attempt a few card tricks myself…I was wretched at them, but he was very patient with me on this until I finally managed to "guess" a card he had drawn "randomly." All of it is still very confusing, but such things do pass the time. He later asked me if I would like to read something. He mentioned he did not want to drain me. Once again, I should have been able to catch him meaning, but I admit I can be so ignorant sometimes. I wonder if this is a trait that Erik loves or hates about me. Without it, I would not have believed him to be the Angel of Music and our arrangement would have never worked out the way it had…

Perhaps I need to elaborate a bit on this? How we came to be what we are, I mean. I imagine that such terms as Angel of Music are not so common…especially to those above the rim of childhood. Oh my, if anyone were to read this, they must surely see me as no less than a fool! I will admit…I have never been so known to formal education, but having been through what I have experienced, I do feel much older. I suppose that is what happens when one becomes wed.

For two years I had been working as a chorus member for the Opera Garnier in Paris. During this time, my dressing room was with the other women in my station and all of our warm ups were together, naturally. There was hardly a time that I found myself singing alone outside of Mama's house. How good she was to have been so wonderfully patient with me singing at such strange hours before my call. I can only wonder what she would have to say about my life now. I sorely miss you, Mama.

As her health began to fail, so did my singing. I did my best to learn the music on my own, but it was necessary for her to sleep and I could no longer do my work at the flat. Mama said that not hearing me sing made her sad, but I was trying to keep the bags out from underneath her eyes. She had become so fragile. We were so fortunate to have such a wonderful maid and housekeeper. I don't believe Mama would have survived so long without her.

I began to come to the Opera earlier each day and stayed later each night. It was the only way I could practice without being a nuisance. There were practice rooms, of course, but they were constantly being rented out for private lessons and I did not have the money. One morning, I kept making my way lower into the heart of the opera house where guest dressing rooms and storage areas were. It was quiet enough down there and I slipped into a lonely room at the end of a hallway that was supposedly forbidden to enter as the Opera Ghost had claimed it. However, I am not superstitious and figured that as it was so quiet in the area and that no strange occurrences had happened in recent weeks that surely M. le Fantom would not mind… I guess you could say that he did not.

When I first heard the music of a violin seeping through the walls, I began to wonder if I had died for some reason and that Papa was coming to retrieve me. Death is not such a terrible thing when one has those waiting for them in Heaven. I stayed. I listened. And I cried as the music eventually left me and I was reminded that with Mama's sickness I was faced with being a true orphan with no steady income. I was just barely nineteen. Living, since my papa had died, have proven to be much more difficult. This cold fact came to my attention and I whispered into the air, "You are not my father."

My heart nearly beat out of my skin when I heard a whisper float through the air from a place I could not gather, "Surely child, I am not."

Jumping to my feet, I made a quick rotation around the small room, then out into the lonely hallway. When I found nothing, I whispered again, "Who is there if I cannot see you?"

"There are tales of ghosts here," the voice responded, his voice sounding fuller, and I noticed a clear trained quality to it.

"I believe in angels, not spirits," I said as confidently into the air as I could muster. I suppose I should have been afraid, but I was more curious. This was my first mistake. Thinking back, he must have found his very intriguing.

The voice laughed and it wasn't cruel or evil or mean, it was almost charming. I couldn't help but smile a little at the thought of someone else smiling with me somewhere. Despite what I let myself believe, such things are what makes the human connection possible. Our first conversation, while strange, was actually very delightful in the subject. His soothing voice was easy to open up to and I was able to talk about many things that I was unable to discuss with others. It is necessary to note that it has been less than easy to make friends here. I was raised on the road and slept where ever I could. Most of the time Papa and I were not in such big cities. The only reason I wound up here was from an invitation from my departed adopted mother. I knew her from her summer home in Perros, not her flat in Paris. That stated, I am very thankful to have had her in my life.

I digress. My point is, this is how things started between myself and my husband. I guess you could say there has always been a mask between us in one form of another. First the one-way mirror, then his actual mask, and now my diary. Perhaps we need such boundaries to function with sanity. I am sure that he has his secrets. It would be unfair for me to really have to confess every one of mine. I want to keep my thoughts my own.

My time is running short before rehearsal will end and he will come for me. I will have to finish the story of our pairing within another entry. I will return my thoughts to yesterday evening. After having given me time to read, Erik prepared dinner, which, per usual, included a glass of wine. However, I noted to myself that the glass was a bit larger this time, the amount of wine was higher, and the taste was far more robust than I was used to. Not wanting to be wasteful of his fine things, I forced myself to drink all of it without question…I'm not sure if that was the better decision or not.

It is a rarity when I find myself in the state of intoxication. This was surely one of them. He took me back to the drawing-room, as he seemed to revel in my spurts of laughter that I couldn't seem to stop. I can't explain it, but everything seemed so funny. I bumped into the couch, the ottoman, a stack of books and all of it was funny. He told me a story about something awful with a man holding weights on top of tiny nails and I somehow found it hilarious. With time, my laughter was finally running away with my ability to stay awake and I found my head heavy against the armrest of the couch.

It was becoming harder to keep my eyes open. The feel of a long slender and cold hand running from my cheek to my hair made my eyelids crack open to see my husband's eyes before me. Not wanting to address the way he was intently staring at me, I closed my eyes again, trying to fight off the feeling of the world spinning around me and muttered, "I'm so tired, husband. Take me to bed."

Without hesitation, he pulled me up into his arms and I relaxed into him, remembering out of the impulse to breathe from my mouth to distract my nose from his natural smell. Poor man. How awful it must be to carry a smell that resembles their decrepit skin. An insult to injury, as M. Valerius would say. As my husband carried me into my room, I was reminded how constricting my corset and day clothes were. Even as I tend to keep mine looser than many women to keep my rib cage wide for lung support, the whale boning was beginning to cut into my hips and upper back.

When Erik laid me in the bed, I drowsily sat back up and must have mumbled something about changing into my nightwear. At first, it seemed that he did not understand my words, but he then went over to my wardrobe and took out a plain chemise. Stupidly, I let a blush cross my already heated cheeks as he laid it at the end of the bed. Sitting beside me, he gently turned my shoulders away from him and he began the task of undoing the buttons of the back of my dress. His skilled fingers were half way down when I finally said something.

"No, no, I can…" my hands found their way to the back of the dress and I pouted, "Let me."

Taking both my hands in his, he went around my waist and placed them back in my lap, however, he left his arms around me and I could feel his face in the hair that embraced the crook of my neck. He whispered, "How I long for nose just to be able to smell the scent of your hair."

He kissed me with his misshapen mouth and my mind was beginning to click. My head fell heavily to his shoulder behind me and I murmured, "I'm tired. Don't you ever get tired, Erik?"

He chuckled, "Would you expect any less from a phantom? I do not sleep."

I hadn't noticed his continuing to unbutton my dress, but my mind was elsewhere. The drink had made me relax and my tongue was loose, "You're no phantom. Phantoms don't lie with anyone."

He held me close and whispered into my ear, "Then a man you have made me, my dearest."

I felt his hands on my bare shoulders as he pushed my dress down until my hands were free from the sleeves. I shivered in understanding the other layers would not be so difficult for him to remove either.

"My little wife is so demure even in front of her husband who loves her. She fears what Erik may think of her when he sees her in the light, but she must know that nothing will ever make her appear any less beautiful to him in his heart." His gentle humming met my ears and little by little my lungs were opened back up to their full flexibility as my ribs were released from their cage. I didn't even comprehend myself stand until hearing my dress and corset lightly hit the carpeted floor.

There was only one final thin layer left between Erik and me. My tired mind tried to contemplate this and eventually gave up. At one dizzy time, I attempted to turn around to say something, but his hands steadied my waist and kept me facing the wall and gas lamp on the night stand that he had brought in with him. When he spoke again, it was lovely and coaxing like his melodies.

"Christine will be a good wife, won't she? She will return to her husband - who loves her more than she could ever know - once she has finished rehearsals. She will do this because she is a good dutiful girl, yes?" In my haze, I feel I nodded. Whatever happened, he continued on, "Christine will return because she knows that her husband is good to her and will always take care of her." His next line was so quiet and I felt his breath against my ear when he said, "And he asks so little of her."

A long arm tangled its way around my belly, holding me close to him. His other hand I felt slowly moving against my hip, then leg, until it was pulling up on the fabric leaving free air to flow below my knees. My head became heavy again and said something incoherent.

He hushed me softly and said, "Are you afraid, my love?"

The hand was now under the fabric and sliding up my thigh. The chill of it made me shiver and gain some wits back into my head. "I'm…" I thought for a moment then replied, "No…You're no phantom."

He cupped his hand directly over my womanhood and suddenly I was very grounded where I stood as I gasped. His other arm pulled me even closer to him and I could now feel the member between his legs erect against the small of my back. Before I could say anything more, he seemed to seethe through his teeth, "I am a man, Christine. You have taught me just how much of a living man I can be. You are not to deny me the night before I allow you to keep your public career among the living. Will you be so cruel to your husband who loves you so much? Will you?"

For some reason, I thought it was getting angry. I have never liked his anger. How could anyone ever prefer any anger, least of all his? It isn't as if I could plan him for such outbursts. The poor man. All his life he has only known horror. For appropriate reasons, I do fear his anger. I saw it at its worst when I first unmasked his face, but that is surely a tale for another entry. I will do many things to avoid such passions from him and I do feel that part of me still has the power to outright deny him physically…however, I much prefer my freedom when taking into consideration just what he has the power to take away from me legally as my husband.

Strangely enough, I had not so much time to answer before he made the slightest movement of the hand that covered my womanhood. While still cold, the reaction that the simple shake of his finger there made me gasp despite myself. I suppose he noticed where my reaction came from, for he did it again. I can't really explain to you just what that feeling is, but it wasn't bad. No, it was…different. Very different, but not bad. Part of me was afraid that what he did to me was not appropriate behavior for anyone to be doing, man or wife or not, but there wasn't so much time for me to think of this for he moved his hand over me again and I pressed into him involuntarily.

I began to hear his breathing as he continued to do this. No, now that I think of it, it was _my_ breathing. My shuttered breaths as I found it hard to stand from this new sensation that I felt. I did my best to ground my bare feet into the floor, curling my toes into the carpet, but he held my weight with his thin arms as I pushed myself further into his chest, eventually gasping his name as I didn't know what else to do. I didn't know whether to try and stop this or let him continue. Everything has been so confusing for me and my mind was reeling. He seemed to answer my thoughts when he spoke.

"My darling wife knows that Erik will never hurt her, doesn't she?" His voice was eery, if not even dangerous, "If I hurt her she will cry and he does not what that. You are not crying, my lovely wife."

My hands gripped onto the fabric over my thighs and my head began to reel as my neck could not support my head. He did not stop his movements and continued to hold me as he was. I whispered as clearly as I could against his shoulder, "Erik, what are you doing? This can…This cannot be right." A rather helpless gasp left me as I began to feel a long cold finger enter me. I couldn't describe to you just what he was doing, but every part of my being willed for him to continue.

Without further warning, he had turned my body toward the bed and the lamp had been turned out. For a moment, my hands gripped at the sheets for a sign of stability and noticed with great embarrassment that there was a wetness between my legs that had not been there before. Had I managed to soil myself during the time his hand was on me? Horror overtook all feelings I had felt only minutes before. I readied myself to run and did not hear fabric drop to the floor. Soiled or not, he did not seem to register my growing embarrassment for his placed his hand upon me again but did not pull me up from my bent positioning over the side of the bed.

Within minutes, his cold fingers had been pulled away from me, but the emptiness did not stay for long as they were quickly replaced with something much fuller from behind me. Keeping my waist where it was with his arm around it, and also seeming to steady himself with the other arm next to where mine were, he pushed into me from behind and this time, unconsciously as it was, I pushed back. This time, our gasps met each other and it no longer seemed so cold as skin against skin. No, this time it was surely something else.

My grip on the bed managed to get tighter and his long hand covered one of mine. Something within me was growing and bulging and my mind wouldn't register itself to know how to get it out. I needed it to take me, needed _him_ to take me. I heard my choked voice yelp out into the room and his answered in a primal grunt. Just as I was sure to scream from this overwhelming feeling, he pulled out from me, the hot thick liquid running down my leg.

As he no longer held me, I feel to my knees in shuttered gasps, feeling the mix of hot wetness between my thighs. Part of me wanted him to return. There was something within me that wasn't where it needed to be, wasn't quite finished. Still, I was exhausted both mentally and physically from everything that had just transpired. I felt his ghost lips plant a light feathery kiss on the top of my head. He whispered, "Perhaps it would be best for you to visit your washroom. I will be waiting for you to return."

I found myself suddenly cold as I looked behind me to speak to his golden eyes, "Erik I…What-"

"Wash yourself, my darling. I will wait." His voice was slightly strained.

Not wanting to see much of what was between my legs, I drew myself a warm bath and quickly slipped into the tub. I don't know if he knew that I could hear him sobbing in my room as I bathed. It made me wonder if I should be sobbing too? Did I do something wrong? Should I have let myself feel that way? To return his physical gestures as if I were all knowing of what I was doing?

Before leaving the bathroom, I asked him if he would bring my chemise to me before I stepped out. He did without question and once I had dressed, he had lit the candle on my nightstand so that I knew where to go. Once I was in the bed, he kneeled before me as he would usually do and stroked my face gingerly. I looked down in shame and asked him if I had done something wrong.

"No my angel," he murmured, "The only wrong you could ever do is to leave your poor Erik. You will come back tomorrow after rehearsal, yes? You will return as Erik's wife?"

I wanted to ask more questions but decided that it would be better to wait until my head was completely clear to do so. The last words I said to him that night were, "I have nothing without my husband."

He nodded in reply and I fell fast asleep.

* * *

 **Sixth Entry**

It has only been a day since I last wrote. I remember that I used to hate the down times between scenes in rehearsal, but now I find I am quite fond of my time to write. Many will take this time to read the paper, catch up on gossip in hopes that the stage manager won't catch them speaking, and now I find myself curled up in a chair on house right just below Box Five. Perhaps he will not see me writing from here. If he does, I will be forced to find a darker place. I hope he is busy with other matters today as he said.

Yesterday evening Erik was early in coming to my dressing room mirror. I suppose I ought to elaborate once more on that as well. Some six months ago when I first started to converse with the voice in my dressing room, I was sure to check behind every corner and into every crevice that I could. At one point I remember him laughing at me. I asked him how he could see me since he clearly was not in the room. His voice, I remember it being strained and quiet, but he said, "Would you expect no less from your Angel of Music?"

That took my knees to the floor. He couldn't be serious. At the time I had forgotten having told him much about my father's death and his promise to send an angel from heaven to watch over me and continue my music lessons. Erik has this way of speaking to someone so well that if he wants, words will flow out and you won't remember what they were. He also has a way with getting the exact opposite effect whenever he wants. Of course, I was skeptical…at first. I would have stayed skeptical if it weren't for Mama. In her poor mind, it was all true, that an angel would take the time to give me voice lessons in the mornings within an old musty dressing room (that the manager's officially signed over to me, might I add).

As Mama's health continued to fail, she became a bit more frantic over me, always asking me where I was. I eventually found that speaking of my angel was the only thing to calm her sore mind. She would want to hear all about my lessons, what his voice sounded like, and what we talked about. It was a way for us to relive our simple times by the sea together and it became easier to believe that angels were real the more I told her about my exceptional situation. The night before she passed, my last image of her frail wrinkled face was of her smiling in a dim candlelight with her eyes hardly left open.

The next morning, I found her cold and without breath. Looking back, when I missed my music lesson I'm genuinely surprised that Erik did not burn the entire Opera down. He always had such high expectations for me, as he still does. He is like my papa in that way, always believing the best aspirations could come from me. Anyways, I sent a messenger to the stage manager saying that I wouldn't be in for rehearsal due to the death. It so happened that it was the same day most of the blocking would be done for the chorus. A messenger was sent back telling me I had been cut from that act and that my pay would forfeit by one-fifth unless I picked up another position backstage to sublet it.

Not knowing what to do, feeling that I had nothing left, I ran to the Opera as soon as I received the note. It was nearing the lunch break and I was prepared to beg the director to reconsider the decision as I had no other income and was sure to be homeless within mere weeks. As soon as I entered the east stage door, I heard screaming and picked up the faintest smell of smoke. Idiotic as this may sound, knowing that I needed my job back as soon as possible, I ran towards the stage where the noise was coming from all the while chorus members, stage hands, and dancers were running past me.

It was if as someone had thrown oil into the stage lights and the flames were flying high, almost touching the curtains. Black smoke filled the auditorium and while I could hear men yelling at one another to carry water in from the outside and call for help, what was worse was hearing a strange laughter pouring over everything and bouncing off the walls as if the laughter were a strange being on its own.

As my lungs began to fill with smoke, I felt my way down the stairwell towards the forgotten dressing rooms. One level below the stage it was already easier to breathe. Picking up my pace, I took to running down the halls, knowing that there was only one place I could go to, one being who would know what to do amongst all the terrible chaos. Upon throwing the door open I began to scream, "Angel! Angel! What do I do? Where do I go?" I fell to my knees sobbing until I finally heard his voice slip through the walls.

"Where were you this morning, child?"

I laughed in hearing him, even though I could feel his anger.

"Oh, Angel! I'm so sorry! My mama, Madame Valerius, she is dead and the stage is on fire and because I couldn't come in my pay has been docked for the next show. Angel please, I don't know what to do! Tell me what to do!"

"Do you believe in me, Christine? Will you follow me?"

I remember looking up, eyes wide, "Yes, I believe in you. Please, Angel, I will follow you. Will you take me away from this? Please take me away, I'm so frightened and I have no one without Mama!"

I heard the violin through the walls, its sound reflecting my yearning for escape. "Come to me, child. Let me protect you now."

My balance came to my feet and I thought I was floating into a light, into myself for I saw myself getting closer. Music escalated and flowed all around me, my spirits were lifted, I felt I could fly, and I followed the notes that lead me towards my mirror. Oh, so suddenly it was all ripped away and I fainted in the cold tunnels of darkness behind my dressing room!

Once again, I digress and rehearsal will be ending sooner than I know it. I will finish that story later. It needs to get out of my head and into something else or I'm sure I will lose it deep within my backward mind. I would like to recount yesterday evening after I had written my last entry. You see, Erik and I did not have any time to really speak that morning. I had managed to oversleep and he had me rushing to get to rehearsal on time.

During supper, he asked me very general questions about rehearsal. He checked in to be sure that the management was treating me well and that no one was being cruel to me backstage. Nothing bad had happened, of course. It's hard for me to imagine too much happening with Erik being as powerful around the Opera as he is…or shall I say, terrifying? He prodded my thoughts further as I ate my food slower. Thankfully, there was a much more appropriate glass of wine with the meal and I sighed with relief when I first saw it. With time, I spoke my thoughts as strongly as I could despite the crimson embarrassment I wore on my cheeks and neck.

"Erik, what happened yesterday evening…" The words came out quickly then stopped very suddenly and I was afraid I had lost them. He waited, unmoving on the opposite side of the table. "It was…" I worried I would faint. I knew I wasn't breathing. Part of me felt my food twisting in my stomach. My eyes kept to the floor. "That wasn't…I…"

"Did I hurt you, Christine?" he asked, concern riddled in his quiet, but powerful voice.

At that point, I felt I could have lied. I could have told him that he was never allowed to touch me again, that what he was doing was not what I wanted and was wrong. Would God damn me forever for admitting any sort of pleasure out of lust? But…to say otherwise would be lying. My husband had done no wrong, had never hurt me as a husband. I am sure that he is quite possibly better than most men in caring for my needs. I could not lie to him on this.

He had made his way to my chair and kneeled before me as quietly as he had come. My embarrassment stung my eyes and I felt so foolish, suddenly wishing I hadn't said anything. His cold long hands covered mine as they sat wringing in my lap. Looking up to me with his strange gold cat-like eyes he asked again, "Has Erik hurt his wife?"

I shook my head, "No."

He reached up and moved to brush my face, but stopped to ask brokenly, "Why does she cry?"

"What happened…" I finally breathed out, my face on fire, "It was… Was it wrong?"

"Is that how you feel?"

I couldn't decipher his tone, "Was it? I… I never…"

He pulled his hands down to his face and fell to my feet, "Did I misunderstand, my wife? Did I… Have I shamed you, my innocence? Have I done such terror to you? I had believed you were not in pain. You sang for me, Christine. I believed your lovely voice last night, my bird. And you have come back to me as my wife." He looked up to me, his arms outstretched and bellowed, "Tell me I have not wronged you!"

His volume shook me into shock and my head shook with wide eyes.

"What have I done, Christine? Should I not have taken you in such a way? My love! If I have been a careless husband, I beg of you to forgive me!"

I took my chance to get a word in, "You-You have not been. Erik, I, I just am, um, confused. I don't know what you did to me last night and I am confused."

He looked up, his head cocked to the side a little as he repeated, "Christine is confused?"

"Yes, Erik."

"Confusion is all? Not hurt? Not ashamed?"

"Just confusion."

"Confusion…confusion enough to try to, to solve her confusion? She is a smart girl, she will want to know these things. That is why she asks."

I toyed with my sleeves, "I guess,"

He stood and took my hands in his, "And I have not hurt you?"

"No,"

"Not at all?"

"Not once."

He became giddy. I find I have trouble really explaining just how _excited_ he suddenly was. "Ask me, my love, ask me anything you wish to know. I will tell you anything you want. What do you wish to know, my love?"

I sighed, already too exhausted, "I… Perhaps another evening, Erik? I would much rather hear you play something tonight. Would you play something on the violin for me, please?"

Nodding quickly, he took my hands and led me to the drawing room. I must have fallen asleep there and I imagine him taking me back to my room for that is where I awoke the next day, still in my previous day's clothing, the only difference was that my corset had been loosened from the back. He truly is a very caring man.

* * *

 _A/N: FF authors receive appreciation for their stories through reviews, favorites, and follows of their story. Thank you for that consideration :)_


	3. Entires 7-10

**Entires 7-10**

 **Seventh Entry**

I would like to continue to recount how Erik and I became what we have become. Part of me feels that if I can only record it somewhere and reread it at a later time, that I'll somehow be able to make sense of such things. Fortunately, my husband has not let on to him knowing that I am keeping such documents. And if he has, then his reading them has not changed our existence. I keep this notebook in my rehearsal bag behind a little pocket I sewed into the back. He's never touched the bag to my knowledge and I've never given him reason need to.

Part of me, ignorant and idiotic as it is, wishes that he could have continued to personify, or shall I say, mystify himself as an angel forever, to keep me in that strange state of illusion as he did so well. Sadly, as I now understand it, understand _him_ , such a place can no longer be obtained on my own. My mind is no longer so weak and willing towards his magic. I have discovered too much about him.

I had followed his seraphic voice through, or rather, _around_ the mirror in my dressing room and had too suddenly found myself wide and awake in pitch black darkness. Such light, such hope and surrender all turned to tarnish, shattering, black darkness. Behind me, I found I could still faintly hear the screams of those fleeing the Opera. My hand reached out to try and graze the place I had come from, but I saw nothing. The darkness closed in around me as if it were pitch itself and with my last breath a scream erupted from my entire being.

Out of that cruel darkness, an even crueler sense startled me as a hand, or shall I say, a thin bony fingers covered in leather gloves closed around my wrist and refused to let go. In sheer terror, I cried out again and could not seem to stop once I had started. So many feelings were running through my head, such sadness combining with anguish and then overturning in fear. An unyielding arm took me around the waist to support and keep me from turning away again. I noted the unadulterated power emitting from that thin arm despite the lack of muscle I felt from it. My feet slipped over pebbles and loose stones and I didn't have the sense to pull up my skirts to keep his pace. It was no wonder when I fell.

Feeling dirt and grime beneath my hands, I did my best to scramble away from him, but his power over me was unrelenting. In one smooth motion, his long cold hands wove around my wrists and pulled me up to my feet once more. I was facing him and my vision had become accustomed to the darkness. It was then that I first laid eyes on his fully masked face. A scream was rising from me again but was swiftly cut off by those long fingers cupping my mouth.

Despite myself, I know my mind will often play tricks on me to keep memories of terror from me. The next morning I wanted to swear that I had passed out from exhaustion and all the other emotions swimming through my brain. However, I realized much sooner than I could contemplate that I was not imagining exactly what fume was rising from his hands. You see, dear diary, when my poor papa died, it was in the summer. Not having the funds to prepare his body with the proper oils, we had to bury him quickly, but it would never be quick enough for me. It was summer and oh, how dreadfully hot it was that July. I was too exhausted to do anything but stand and sweat as Papa was being moved from his bed to the casket…

I know my mind will play tricks on me, you see, because I knew exactly what the smell on Erik's hands was without immediately knowing how. It was a scent so known to me that even though I had not smelled it so strongly in years, it seemed to take me back to that very July. I am all too familiar with what the overpowering smell of death and decay is. What I could have never been prepared for was that it would cover my mouth so suddenly with the intent to silence me.

How could I have resisted the compelling urge to escape the blackness of the underworld in the only way I could? And so, I fainted.

This rehearsal has not proven as long as I had hoped. It appears that I do get so very lost when recording in these pages. I must save the rest for another day.

* * *

 **Eighth Entry**

After taking me back to our underground home, Erik bid me farewell for the evening saying that he had some unfinished business to do that night. I did not feel the desire to question him as I was looking forward to having the time to myself. Before going back out, he started to take out dishes to prepare supper. I could tell he was flustered with something and I felt it so silly that after all that he does for me that he felt the need to prepare my food. I tentatively moved to rest my hand on the crook of his arm and it startled him into complete stillness. He looked forward to the wall without facing me. He must have been waiting for me to speak so I did.

"You needn't worry so much of me. Rehearsal was not so taxing for me today. I still have plenty of energy to prepare my own supper."

He looked back at me, a strange compassion lingering in his eyes. His gloved hand patted mine lightly and he muttered, "Of course, my darling, of course."

Leaving the pots out of the cabinets so that I would not need to reach for them on my own, he turned to the door to replace his cloak. Glancing back at me, he lowered his head a little and asked, "Christine will be waiting for me when I return? Even if she is sleeping she will still be here?"

How can I not pity this poor man who has done so very much for me and yet still begs for me to stay as if I had anywhere else to go? Smiling as strongly, and kindly as I could muster, I nodded and replied, "Of course I'll be here, husband. You are very good to me and I'm forever grateful."

He nodded and left me to work on supper. I have never been one to cook. My strange upbringing of traveling from tavern to tavern, only settling in a house for no more than a season or year at a time, has made me a rather inadequate wife. I am too poor on my own to not know how to fill such duties and yet with Mama, I never had to follow through with them as she was able to afford a maid to do the cooking. I speak the truth when I tell my husband how grateful I am to him. I cannot see how I would be of interest to anyone else of my class with my only talents being in music. After preparing a humble plate of meat, cheese, and bread (something I was very accustomed to on the road) I sit with you to write to you, dear thought keeper.

When I came back to consciousness, having just fainted. I was unable to tell how long I had been in my own mind. The sound of dripping water caught my attentions and I turned to see a bubbling well with a lit lantern nearby. The water from the well seemed to disappear right into the rocks I laid against. Turning away from the water, I was able to look up to find that my head was resting against the knee of a tall man wearing a black cloak and odd triangular hat. I felt a slight tremble in his hands as he bathed my temples with a wet handkerchief. Picking up the death scent once more from his close proximity, I tried to push him away stupidly saying, "Who are you? Where is the voice?"

The only answer I received was a sigh. How often I would come to know those sad sighs!

Looking down the corridor, the man drew breath to release a slow low whistle in what sounded like a very specific pattern. I learned up to face what other terrors could possibly await me. The sound of heavy hooves was heard down the corridor. With my near-sighted vision betraying me, I tensed when I first saw a glowing white shape in the darkness. Before long, the beasts hot breathing was passing over my face and I was able to exclaim in recognition, "Cesar!"

Cesar is one of the prized horses of the Opera. He was used in _Profeta_ and I often sneaked him sugar cubes while I waited backstage with the chorus. Not long before this, I had heard he had managed to figure out the locks on his stable so well that he would be found trotting around the cellars. I wondered for a fleeting moment how my captor had been so easily able to call him to order, but before I could reach out to touch Cesar's curious nose, I was being hoisted up onto his bare back. I froze, not knowing what to do from there as I had never been barebacked on a horse in my life. The idea crossed me to try and run from the man with Cesar to lead me, but the thought vanished when the man climbed up behind me, encasing me with his arms so that I could not move. He did a series of whistles and Cesar began to move without additional guidance.

My mind began to wonder and my vision turned slightly hazy and my body became numb against the man behind me. The last thought that seemed to make sense to me, and what I tried to hold onto for sanity was the conclusion that I may have been under the influence of some cordial. Fears came and went with thoughts of what else could have been possible if I had remained unconscious longer than I had. A peculiar peacefulness overtook me the farther we continued down the passage.

While our movement was slow, I felt the sense that we were moving in through a sort of narrow circular gallery. How many circles did we make around the underground expanse of the opera house I cannot be sure. I had never ventured so low before after my curiosity got the best of me the first time I tried. The cellar men own such low places. They attend to the fires of the boilers with their large shovels and pitchforks. The coal covers all but completely and if you go near them, they open the mouths of their furnaces as if they were preparing to throw you in themselves!

On the back of my sweet Cesar, I could see these men from afar, their shadows clear against the red and yellow flames. They appeared and disappeared as we made our way down the circular path. We continued at this slow pace until my mind began to clear itself and I trembled at the thought that I may be taken down to hell itself now that we had passed the demons of the furnaces. I quivered as Cesar's pace quickened.

There was a stale moistness in the air and Cesar stopped. Beyond the light of the lantern, the darkness was reflected back towards us from a sort of blue light. Before us was what appeared to be an entire lake for it was long enough that I could not see what lay on its other side if it even had another side. The stories of Hades and Persephone crossed my mind as the man skillfully slid off of Cesar from behind me. The man then placed his long cold hands around my waist to remove me as well. Naturally, I leaned back towards Cesar once my feet reached the ground. The horse snorted and with a few clicks of the man's tongue, he was walking away on his own accord.

It had been many years since I had found myself surrounded by water. I wondered how quickly my heavy skirts would drown me if I chose to flee to the blue liquid rather than stay in a tiny boat with this man. He seemed to read my thoughts, for he took a firm grasp of my forearms and led my heavy feet to the boat to sit me down as steadily as possible. Before I could turn again to the shore, he had untied the boat and swiftly kicked us away from where we came. He rowed with long, quick, strong strokes of the oars, but his strange cat-like yellow eyes bored into me as I shivered.

When the boat hit the shore, we were in darkness once more. With a jolt, I felt him leave the boat, I stayed put not wanting to follow any further. His spider-like fingers held my arms again, pulling me out. I cried out in terror, pleading that he release me, but instead, he took me up into his arms and carried me forward. Tears choked me until I was stunned into a sudden blazing light.

He led my feet to a carpeted floor and I found myself within a rather ordinary drawing-room. Letting my tired eyes scan over books, chairs, a fireplace, and other objects one might expect to find in such a room, I finally settled on the man standing in the center of the room with hunched shoulders. Clearing his throat slightly and crossing his arms tight across his chest, he finally spoke, "Don't be afraid, Christine; you are in no danger."

I do not think I will ever be able to convey the shock and surprise that encompassed my every being to find that this man - this _man_ \- was one and the same with the being I had come to know as my Angel Of Music.

Oh dear, it is now so very late and I believe my husband has just returned home. I must quickly retire or else he will chastise me for neglecting my sleep!

* * *

 **Entry Nine**

It has been quite a few days since I have been able to write. It is not that so much has happened, it is that we have been blocking more scenes that I am a part of within the opera. Over supper last night my husband questioned if I was happy with him. I responded truthfully that I was as content as I could be and that he need not worry about me as much as he does. He expressed that he feared that he had frightened me the last evening we shared intimacy. As soon as he mentioned it I was sure that the heat of the room had heightened several degrees. Of course, I did not want to shame him as that is not what a good wife would ever wish to do. I shook my head and kept my eyes low.

He reaffirmed that he never wanted to scare me and that I was the "most perfect wife" he ever could have dreamed of having. I suppose he's right. Despite his wit and clever talents, I can't imagine that so many women would agree to such an arrangement. He has often told me that he never considered the chance of being so lucky to have me as a companion. I try and reply to him as kindly as I can.

As a child, I dreamed as any other young girl might. My father filled by bedtime stories with princes and noblemen. The first time I thought I ever saw a true prince was my childhood sweetheart running into crashing cold waves to fetch the scarf that was drawn to them…Oh, how long ago that was! What a dear boy he was, too. We're of very different stations now. I suppose he must be married or planning such an arrangement for himself. I wish him as well as I can.

Erik has not come to my bedroom for any evenings since the one I last wrote of. I somehow feel as if he was just as frightened of what happened as I was. He busies himself as he can but still is attentive to me in the evenings before I retire. My voice lessons have continued in the morning and there seems to be a kind of routine between us. I no longer wait up for him in the evenings. I don't believe he would want me losing sleep. Estranged as he is, he tries to be a good man. While it has not been so long since our official face-to-face meeting, I am certain that he is a good man to have taken me in and to have been so gentle as he has. I have heard such horror stories from other women when it comes to what goes on in the night.

Part of me doesn't want to record how I felt when I saw him for the first time. I believe that heartbreak really can drive a person to death. It took my papa longer than most, but I know it was heartbreak for my mother that was last string of life he had. He never told me directly how much he missed her as I carried a guilt of having been the one to kill her in childbirth, but I knew the truth when I saw him huddle over a small sketched picture of her that he always carried with him. I say this because when he died, I felt what it meant to have my heart crack. There was a true pain in my chest that day and that pain returned when I held Mama's cold lifeless hand for the last time. Seeing that my beacon of hope was no more than a masked perpetrator was the final blow to make me fall to my knees in uncontrollable sobs.

My captor knelt before me, his hands clasped together tightly. He told me, "It is true, Christine!…I am not an Angel, nor a genius, nor a ghost…I am Erik!" His words did not stop there. I fail to remember them all for there were so many. There he was on his knees, his head bowed before me as he began to say such terrible things about himself. He cursed himself to hell and beyond and implored my forgiveness with hands outstretched to me as if I were something holy.

I kept shaking my head to try and remove his terrible words from my head. I did not want to hear of such things after everything around me was crashing every which way. When he saw me blocking his advances of admitting his cruel cheat, he took another approach. It was then that he told me he loved me for the first time. I remember staring up at him through my tears and our eyes met for what felt like so long. Giving into the impulse of intuition, I started to lean back from his strange eyes, going so far as to regain my standing balance and take a step away from him. His long hands reached out for the hem of my dress as if to stop me from fleeing.

He admitted that everything he had done had been for me. The lessons, the odd pretty trinkets, and flowers I often discovered in my dressing room, the companionship, and even some advancement in the opera had all been his doing. He moaned his sorrow and wept before me, begging that if I would only forgive him he would never lie to me again. Finally, my anger had gotten the better of me and gave me the strength to stand boldly before him to proclaim that despite everything, I could only ever despise him for having so cruelly lied to me and using my poor father's stories and Mama's failing health against me. I demanded that he release me then and there…and he offered to do just that.

But then he rose as well and I was cast in shadow by his height. Even as his demeanor reflected humility, I could not help but remember his strength in yielding my attempted flight from earlier in the day. I no longer felt so strong and my weak footing betrayed me into trapping myself in a chair directly behind me. The need to scream and cry arose in me, but before I could, he kneeled beside the chair, his hands reached to me then falling short. He reminded me in the only way that he could that even as he was not an angel or a ghost, that he was still the voice I had come to know, for he sang…and I listened…and I stayed.

We did not exchange any further words that night. The last thing I remember were his golden eyes staring up at me from behind his hidden face as my vision failed me and I slept.

* * *

 **Entry Ten**

My theories on my husband being more or less afraid of touching me were…less than accurate. Yesterday evening following supper, Erik sat down with me in the drawing room as I took to attending to a skirt I had managed to sever the hem of in rehearsal. Looking up from a slender black book he read from his chair, he told me that if I ever grew weary of such trivial tasks that I could have them done from a seamstress. I took a moment to look down at my work to notice how poorly done it was.

With a heavy sigh, I said, "I feel I need to advance in some homely duty. Otherwise, I see myself as quite useless to you as a wife." Feeling sour for having rejected his kindness, I added, "You are a good husband to want to offer me more luxury than I deserve, thank you."

He nodded slightly and returned to his reading. Once I finished, I stood and bid him a good night. Before leaving, he took my hand in his bare thin fingers. I repressed a shiver from the chill of his skin. We held this simple connection for a minute or so, no words passing between us. He finally spoke, "You…You believe Erik is a good husband?"

A weak smile crossed my face, "Of course I do."

He nodded again and I left for my bedroom. Such times prove to me how awful I am at reading people, least of all my husband. I never knew such conversations were actually him requesting entry into my evening hours. It is not as if I would say horrible things to him if I ever knew, but it would be nice to be able to tell the difference.

When he entered my room, I was already in bed and readying myself to turn out my lamp. I admit, when I saw him enter, I looked to my lap wearily. Reading my negativity, he turned back to the door as if burned. It was then that I reached out to him in apology, requesting that he stay until I was asleep. Slowly, very slowly, he made his way to the side of my bed. I took his hand in mine and smiled as kindly as I could. His eyes seemed to dart from our hands to my face.

My patience lagged and my face fell slightly. I wondered whether he was going to move forward with his reason for being in my room or not and hoped that he would not keep me waiting so late. Leaning forward, he turned the knob down on my lamp until the flame expired. I quivered with mixed feelings on what would come next. His position on the bed shifted and his weight moved up to where I was sitting. I felt the tips of his fingers run from the corners of my face and down through my hair. While the thought of him kissing my lips was less than appealing, I stayed still.

Rather suddenly, he pulled me close to him so that head fell into his thin chest and his head found rest atop mine. His arms then encased my shoulders and back, pulling me further into him. Not fully knowing how to respond, I sat limply in his arms as he continued to hold me with him. His breathing, I noted, was slow, almost relaxing. After some time during our embrace of wondering how much further he would go, I found myself come to a restful place with him. We stayed that way until my head fell to his shoulder and my running mind fell into sleep.

This morning Erik informed me that he has secured a position for me at the upcoming gala to welcome the new managers of the Opera. This confuses me as I was sure that the line up was already certain, but I know better than to have any lack of trust in him now. I suppose I must simply wait and see how things turn out. Until then, my lessons with him have doubled in length.

* * *

 _A/N: FF authors received gratuities for their works through reviews, follows, and favorites. Thank you for your consideration :)_


	4. Entries 11-13

**Entries 11-14**

 **Entry Eleven**

I find myself so thankful to have the time to write during rehearsals. If I did not, I'm sure I would never get any time to myself! Erik has been keeping me very busy these past few days. I am still uncertain how I will maintain an open position for performance this Friday evening, but he continues to assure me that I have nothing to worry about with that working out in my favor.

There is more to the story of my husband and myself meeting that I have not included in recording yet. Having woken up in what I now associate as my bedroom, I took a look around. The furniture in this room was a bit outdated, but the supplies Erik left me seemed endless. There were soaps of all different scents, various pins, combs, ribbons, and a walk in closet brimming with stylish dresses. I find that when Erik is uncertain of what I would like specifically, he prefers to collect a sample of all the options available. One day I will let him know what scents and colors suit me, but for now, I would hate to appear anything less than grateful.

While Erik was out that first awful morning of my being there, I did nothing to prepare myself despite the note he had left for me requesting that I do so. Finding no exits other than to a closet and bathroom, I made laps around the walls trying to figure out how I would free myself from the mess. Not knowing what else to do, I began to shame myself in my own torturous laughter, calling myself foul names, then crying out to my poor dead papa to take me away from my unfortunate life. It was in this despicable state that Erik found me.

After three simple taps, Erik casually strolled through an opening in the wall that I did not notice from before. I now have memorized where this opening is, otherwise, I am certain I would still be unable to tell the door from the rest of the wall. As Erik made his way to the bed, his arms loaded with various boxes and parcels, I began to bark at him for his deplorable behavior. Without haste, he arranged the boxes for clearer inspection from me that I refused to give. I finally demanded that he remove his mask.

"You shall never see Erik's face."

Before I could respond, he reproached me for not having prepared myself for a new day. He informed me that it had passed two o'clock in the afternoon and that I would be allotted half an hour before lunch was served. Through my clouds of anger, I managed to freshen myself in the dress I came in. I did not want to wear anything from him even if it meant wearing my filthy dress from the previous day.

When he returned he made no mention of my unkempt state. Instead, he repeated his love for me, but that would not get in the way of my advancement in music while I was with him. Arriving in the kitchen, there was a simple table for two before us with one plate of food out. He helped me to my chair and hunger ruled me until my plate was empty. I was careful not to drink so much wine, however. I have never been one to prefer more than enough at a time and therefore left my glass half empty. Erik neither ate or drank.

I finally asked him how long he intended on keeping me with him. At first, he was silent, then suddenly, he erupted with laughter. My brow furrowed.

"Perhaps, my dear, it would be more fitting for me to inquire how long it is _you_ plan to stay?"

I expressed my confusion at his question.

"As you may have well noticed, no one in their clear mind would dare rehearse until the stage is, shall we say, mended? This, I fear, puts you out of work. And what is it that you will do now that your benefactor's assets are likely to be given to those of blood relation? Pray, tell me, Christine, where is it that you have planned to go if I were to show you the way to living world now?"

Fearing his words, I stood to run away from him, even if it meant simply running back to the bedroom. He caught my wrist before I could do so and lead me back to my seat without a word. My tears were becoming uncontrollable and I attempted to remove the mess from my face with the back of my hand. I spoke through gasps, "First you lie to me and now you are cruel! Pray tell, what have I done to deserve this from you?"

Seeing my tears thicken with my words, he offered me his handkerchief and I buried my face into it in shame. "My dearest Christine," he began, "While I am no angel, what I can offer to you is safety and stability for as long as I live. If you will merely stay with me here, I swear to you that you will long for nothing. The bedroom and all of its contents are all gifts to you. You may do with them however you please. My dear girl, you have worked so hard to survive, I have offered you stay to help you."

"I cannot trust you!" I burst out, "You are nothing I have known you to be!"

"Then know my love, Christine. Know my love is the truth that has always brought me to you. I will tell you anything you wish to learn of me and we have such time for that now. Will you not give your poor unhappy Erik this chance?"

Through bubbling tears, I requested to be excused and he waved me off. On my way down the hall, I stopped by a room with an ajar door. Peering in, all I could see at first was black. His voice startled me from behind, "This is my bedroom if you care to see it. It is rather curious." He opened the door to me fully and I took a timid step inside the threshold. I suddenly felt as if I had entered the room of someone who had died. The walls were all covered in black hangings, but rather than the white trim that one might find in funeral upholstery, there was instead an enormous music stave with the notes of _Dies Irae_ stretching across them, many times repeated.

In the center of the room was a canopy of hanging red curtains of twisting threads and below this was an open coffin. "This is where I sleep," Erik offered, "One has to get used to everything in life, even to eternity."

"I cannot think of such things right now," I shuttered walking past him and out of the room. On my turn out, I noticed from the corner of my eye was the keyboard of an organ with the instrument filling an entire wall. I did not comment on this. It was all too terribly gothic for my taste.

* * *

 **Entry Twelve**

It is now two days before the Gala and I still am uncertain whether I am to truly perform or not. I have not rehearsed for anything outside of the numbers with the chorus and we have no understudies for a one-time performance. However, Erik is sure to keep me rehearsing with him twice as much. I must admit that I am nervous. I have only ever practiced anything with him. To be on stage with so many important people on my own without any prior rehearsals with the orchestra is an unsettling thought, to say the least. It has been helpful to write in this diary of the past to take my mind off of the present.

After exposing myself to Erik's room, I fled to my quarters to close my eyes and seek the traces of normalcy that I could hide in my thoughts. My mind glided over the process of my papa's funeral and how Mama was likely to afford more. I recalled M. Valerius' letter of regret at not being able to attend Papa's burial. That was when he revealed that he was ailing with pains himself and requested I move to Paris to be with Mama as a "friendly face to keep her company." While I miss my papa every minute, I am truly fortunate to have been given the chance to return to another family even if they were not blood kin. In his will, he left me the funds I needed to attend the conservatory for music. I will never be able to repay the Valerius' kindness. I don't know what I would have ever done without them.

Just as one death lead to another benefactor, so it seemed that my life was being handed over to another at the end of Mama's death. Why is it that my life must be surrounded by such odd and abrupt changes? While losing my papa was earth shattering, as least I knew and loved my adopted family. Erik, despite him knowing me too well after I had opened my every fiber of being to him, was still a mystery to me. What was worse was that he was right. How was I to provide for myself since that I was alone without income? My only talents were in music. I was not famous enough to do parlor shows for the rich, nor was I handy enough to be of any service to the poor outside of the burlesque stage. Erik had been correct: I was out of feasible options.

Sometime later in the day, I emerged from my bedroom very tired. I had managed to cry all of my tears away and was left rather thirsty. It did not take long for me to discover him sitting within the drawing room, writing something in pencil in the strange disconnected and child-like writing he has. Upon seeing me enter, he closed up the writings in a casing and looked up to me in full attention. I requested to have a glass of water and he retrieved one without a word. The water below the earth has a slight metal-like taste to it. Almost like one is drinking water with coins within it. Erik told me it was due to the minerals within the underground lake.

He requested I sit on the sofa across from him and I did so once I finished my drink. He made a slight move to take my glass, but I held it tight in my lap as a way to ease my tensions. I asked him the first question I could think of, "Have you always lived in Paris?"

Upon hearing the question, he turned his head to the side as if confused. The were was a moment where he seemed to be contemplating my question. "I come from many places and have many names. I resided in Persia for many years before coming here. There I had a different name. Before then I lived a nomadic life throughout Russia, Italy, Germany, Egypt…to recount a few."

My brow furrowed, "Do you intend to keep traveling?"

"At my age, I prefer some kind of regularity, Christine."

Angel or no, I have always savored the way he says my name with such feeling. Even as one does not look upon his face, he truly is able to appeal or retract a person in chosen tone alone.

"And what do you see as uniform?" I countered, "Living in the cellars of the opera hardly seems fitting for the word of regularity."

"When one has lived the life I have, one must take whatever comforts they can obtain."

I continued my interrogation for some time. His answers were always short and strange from anything I could have expected. Regardless, he remained across from me and answered all of my questions with patience, even when I often times did not believe him and told him so. Erik is such a unique man. Given the life that he was dealt, instead of what one may do when they are born to physical ailments, he chose not to live a life of begging for strangers pity. He is such a smart man and used his talents to travel and gain wealth. He told me of structures he had designed, of deals he had made with kings, and tricks he had played on people he deemed, "less than useful."

After some time, he left to prepare my supper. We spent more time speaking with one another as I ate and he watched. It was helpful for him to be more talkative since he refused to eat before me. He told me stories of the region the wine I drank had come from and I was set on listening. Erik is truly a talented story teller. I do wonder if he has ever considered being a novelist in any sort. Perhaps one day I will tell him he should.

As our conversation turned to happenings at the opera before the fire and I finished my food, he stood and held his hand out to me. "I have answered many questions for you today, my dear. Will you favor me with a song from the opera?"

For the briefest of moments, I managed to forget our physical exchange from the previous day. As soon as I placed my hand in his, I drew away from the cold bony fingers I had touched through the leather gloves. The fingers that had smelled of death. His reaction was a moan, "Oh, forgive me!"

I followed him to the organ within his chambers and tried to suppress my shiver over the funeral room he referred to as a place to sleep. As he took his seat at the organ my eyes noticed pages and pages covered in red ink with his scratchy handwriting displaying _Don Juan Triumphant_ over the top. See my attention to this he added quietly, "I compose sometimes. I began that work twenty years ago. When I have finished, I shall take it away with me in that coffin and never wake up."

I replied in the only sane words I could think of, "You must work on it as seldom as you can."

He shrugged and shared my gaze at the libretto. His words were faster, almost excited, "I sometimes work at it for fourteen days and nights together, during which I live on music only, and then I rest for years at the time."

Thinking that it would please him, as well as being naturally curious, I asked, "Will you play me something out of your _Don Juan Triumphant_?"

His response was soft but very clear, "You must never ask me that." He turned his eyes to me, "I will play you Mozart if you like, which will only make you weep; but my Don Juan, Christine, burns; and yet he is not struck by fire from Heaven. You see, Christine, there is some music that is so terrible that it consumes all those who approach it. Fortunately, you have not come to that music yet, for you would lose all your pretty coloring and nobody would know you when you returned to Paris." He moved the libretto away from the organ so that my eyes could no longer inspect it. "Let us sing something from the Opera, Christine Daae," he said as if throwing an insult towards me.

There was no time to question him for he had started the music of _Othello_ with a new powerful force running through his fingers. I recognized the duet and sang the part of Desdemona with evident confusion and even terror-riddled within my words and notes at the jubilant way he played the despairing song. When he joined me, his voice boomed like thunder around the flat. There was such revenge in his every note and my knees trembled at the amount of love, jealousy, and then hatred of his words.

Suddenly, I was caught up in the world of the story where the natural mask of the Moor of Venice made me think of the physical black mask hiding this man's face from me. Erik turned into Othello in my mind and my need to see the face of this man was overbearing. I wanted to know the face of the voice I had come to know and with a force more powerful than I could ever control, my fingers tore the last boundary away from us.

And oh…oh what….what horror awaited me.

* * *

 **Entry Thirteen**

I have still not received any word about my taking any place besides that of my chorus role for tomorrow evening's Gala. Erik has been in a terrible mood and I do not ask him about it. He will say some of the most awful things about people when he is angry. I have begun to recognize his tempers and will hide away in my room to not run the risk of souring his mood further. Now, where was I in recounting…

Oh…Of course…if I ever live to see one hundred years, I will never forget the superhuman cry of consuming grief and rage which Erik uttered when the terrible sight of his unmasked face appeared before my eyes. I have never been so interested in human anatomy, but I imagine that if a being had been born dead with their skin rotting and rotting all over their body than forced by God to have their soul remain in their physical being, that the being would be Erik. There were times, as a child that I would fall and scrape my knees and then ugly scabs and scars would appear, but I had never had the sense to imagine what that might appear as when consuming a person's complete physical being.

Erik's skin is like that texture, sometimes black and purple, but where the skin is stretched the most over his face is where it becomes yellow and parchment-like. And he has no nose! Only two holes over where it might be! And his eyes are so sunken into his skull that one might think they were not even there unless you were to shine lights in them or see them from the darkness. His very being is a mystery that no one but him study or wonder over and there he was standing before me in such shocking state.

I fell far back into the wall near the door frame and he came up to me, grinding his teeth as a rabid animal might. I made a move to slip out the door on my knees, but I was not so fast to stop him from trapping me between his long arms against the wall. Leaning over me he cried, "Look! You want to see! See! Feast your eyes, glut your soul on my cursed ugliness!" I closed my eyes and he managed to yell even louder, "Look at Erik's face! Now you know the face of the voice! You were not content to hear me, eh? You wanted to know what I looked like! Oh, you women are so inquisitive!" I tried looking to the floor and stooped down he leveled with my eyes as if to chase my vision. Having nowhere else to go, I looked up to him once more, "Well, are you satisfied? I'm a very good-looking fellow, eh? …When a woman has seen me, as you have, she _belongs_ to me. She loves me forever. I am a kind of Don Juan, you know!"

He straightened his back to his full height to tower over me. With his hand on his hip and wagging such a head on his shoulders, he roared to the covered sky, "Look at me! I AM DON JUAN TRIUMPHANT!"

Not wanting to hear any further, I turned my head to the opening of the doorway and clamped my eyes shut. I begged him to release me as he said he would the previous night. At this, he laughed. In one sweeping motion, he was back on his knees before me, one knee on each side of my own. With his hands, he reached into my hair and held my face forward so that I could not turn away from his close proximity.

His hot breath hit my face as he hissed at me, "Ah, I frighten you, do I?" Tears were rolling down my cheeks and stinging my eyes. He seemed to register this somehow, "I dare say!" He waited to continue, his eyes moving quickly back and forth in scanning my face. "Perhaps you think that I have another mask, eh, and that this…" he jolted my head up to face him more fully and I yelped, "This…my head is a mask? Well," he roared and hurt my ears with the power of his voice, "Tear it off as you did the other! Come! Come along! I insist! Your hands! Give me your hands!" And so he seized my hands and dug them into his terrible paper thin and scabbed face. He tore his terrible excuse for flesh with my nails until his blood streamed over our fingers. I screamed at the sight of my fingers turning red.

"Know," he shouted over my shrieks, "Know that I am built up of death from head to foot and that is a corpse that loves you and adores you and will never, _ever_ leave you!" He let go of my hands and I held them before me, too traumatized to bring them any closer to my body. "Look, I am not laughing now, I am crying, crying for you, Christine, who has torn off my mask and who therefore can never leave me again!"

The world was spinning as I shook my head uncontrollably. He continued, "As long as you thought me handsome, you could have come back, I know you would have come back…but, now that you know my hideousness, you would run away for good." His sobs interrupted him, "So I shall keep you here!" He moaned, "Why did you want to see me? Oh, mad Christine, who wanted to see me!…When my own father never saw me and my mother, so as not to see me, made me a present of my first mask."

Falling away from me, I last saw him dragging himself about on the floor on his way to the organ, still uttering such awful sobs. He appeared as a snake would, but I refused to witness anymore before my feet hit the ground and I was stumbling down the hall and to my room. Behind me, the door slammed and I was sure to slam my own door right back. It was then that the organ came to life and I began to grasp Erik's contemptuous phrasing when referring to what I understood as opera music.

What I was hearing was remotely different from anything I had heard up until that moment. I had no doubt that this was his _Don Juan Triumphant_ blaring his tortured soul to my ears and it seemed to me at first as one long, awful, magnificent sob. Then, little by little, it expressed so many emotions, every kind of suffering of which mankind is capable. The sound of it overwhelmed and intoxicated me to finding my way at his bedroom door once more. Such a siren it was. I had no thoughts to claim as my own. My feet and body were acting upon a will I did not recognize. That was when I opened his door.

He must have sensed me for the music immediately stopped. He turned his full body to the wall so that I could not see past his back. My chest suddenly felt empty and my hands shook. I stared at him for so long and watched as his head sank lower and lower. The music that had just taken my mind had left it in such an array that I could not grasp what I felt anymore. Was I afraid? Of what? Here this ugly man stood before me. His life could not have been so easy and he was ready to offer me anything I wanted only a short time ago. I ran through my options in that time. Did I have any, truly? At what cost?

"Erik," I rasped, my throat scratching from my screams, "Turn back to me and show me your face. Show it to me and do not be afraid because I am no longer afraid. I swear to you that if I ever tremble when I look at you, it will be because I know that you, as a man, are most clearly a genius."

He must have believed me for it was then that he turned back to me. He fell to the floor at my feet and recounted his love for me…words of love from a dead mouth…and the music, his music had finally ceased. He kissed the hem of my dress over and over and was so preoccupied with his never ending confessions of love for me that he did not take note of my closed eyes.

* * *

 **Entry Fourteen**

I do not know if it is truly possible for me to convey to you how very grateful I am that Erik had business to attend to this morning and left me to eat breakfast by myself. Goodness, I never would have thought so much could have happened since yesterday. I must admit that while I am nervous of the present, it is helpful for me to be able to live in the past, even as it does not appear to have been going so well for me from what I have been writing.

I will start with a more recent event. Yesterday afternoon, towards the end of our rehearsal, everything seemed to be turning out nicely for the Gala this evening. As I mentioned before, Erik has been in a foul mood and I was unsure of why until then. Our Prima Donna, Carlotta, has been known to, well, she does not speak highly of Erik's work as Opera Ghost. While she does appear to believe in the superstition, she still has never taken his notes to the old managers seriously…until now I suppose.

Yesterday afternoon at Carlotta's call, she was raving to her maids and hairdresser about notes advising her to stay at home for being ill. She was sure to tell everyone that she felt no issue with her health and was sure to give as quality a performance as she was able. Some members of the company even applauded her words. The Maestro, however, simply tapped on his music stand to continue with the run.

What happened next is, well, it was peculiar and rather terrifying to explain. As Carlotta began the aria from Gounod's _Romeo e Juliet_ , there was a cry of a fly man and several other men yelling at him too, "Let go!" or "Hang on until you reach the catwalks and jump or you'll lose your hands!" I looked across the stage to witness a man holding onto the rope of a backdrop fly upwards only to jump from the rope and land on the hanging rope and wood catwalks high above us. Everyone's vision was immediately blinded by a huge backdrop flying down, hitting the new wood of the stage with a heavy thud.

Naturally, this startled Carlotta forward into the gas flames at the tip of the stage. Her dress erupted in flame and if it were not for the incredibly quick efforts of two chorus members and her hairdresser to put the flames out of her dress with their overcoats, she would have surely caught flame herself! More people rushed to her and she screamed such terrible screams out of her choking throat. Other woman began to scream, but everyone was caught off as Joseph Bouquet, a stagehand, came running out from the sidelines proclaiming, "It was the ghost! I saw him in his triangular hat as he cut the rope to the backdrop from the rafters!"

This did nothing for the panic that was spreading. I was shaking my head in horror as Carlotta was escorted from the stage, still choking on smoke and sobs. The Maestro called for a ten-minute break and before it was finished, I had been given the roles that Carlotta was to sing. While the men were inspecting the backdrop, the company was told to stay backstage to clear the way for them. I was left to have a closed rehearsal with the orchestra for the aria Carlotta had so recently been singing. At the end of that number, the Maestro looked up to me in wonder and asked why I had not revealed such talent to him in the past…I didn't know what to tell him.

Yesterday evening, I timidly asked Erik if that had truly been him to have cut the backdrop down and upset the weight system. I was met with a shrug, "The man was a fool to hang on the ropes as he was and Carlotta should have known better than to step forward into the flames. I was merely fulfilling my position as Opera Ghost!"

I must admit, I was unsure how to approach him on how uncomfortable I feel with the idea of two people facing potential death from his hands. He did not even seem apologetic for what had happened. It was rather…unnerving, to say the least.

To move towards the past, I recount that the day following my unmasking of poor Erik was a strange one. After his episode of tears at my feet, he sent me to bed. The next day, he would not leave me be, hardly even for me to use the lavatory! From early morning, I was awoken from my nightmares from his rapping on my door to wake up for breakfast. While he remained masked during this, afterward, I turned the corner into the drawing room to find him staring at me from across the space with his head cocked to the side, his face revealed. I stood as tall as I could, refusing to look away or move backward. He was testing me, you see. He wanted to see if I would falter. I am proud to say that despite the way he looked at me as if I were prey, I blinked a few times, moved to the sofa, and asked softly, "What is it that you wanted to do today, Erik?"

He mentioned something about lessons and my mind ran towards the event of the previous day. I suppressed a shiver. Sitting before me in his armchair, mask still removed, he questioned if I wanted to recommit to my lessons without further "distraction." I nodded and forced myself to look towards his death's head. He was testing me. I knew it. I had to stay constant otherwise I would never see sunlight again.

After a long lesson, so long that my feet felt as if they were swelling from standing, he returned his mask and prepared my lunch. I suppose he was offering some kind of olive branch for not forcing me to look upon him while eating. We spoke more about his past and where he had traveled to. I found myself yearning to break free of the underworld confinement and I felt that he was baiting me to ask it of him…but I said nothing. It was too soon and I could not bare to hear him scorn me.

That afternoon, he played the piano in the drawing room for me. His mask was removed once again and I kept my eyes aloof when he looked back at me, daring for me to flinch. At some point, I must have fallen asleep for when I woke he was no longer at the piano bench but in the kitchen again preparing supper. It was at the table as I ate that he began to ask questions of me.

"Has your benefactor left you with any income?" His question hit me in the chest and knocked the wind from me like a hard blow. Mama…how I longed for her to tell me that all of this was a bad dream! I swallowed and slowly shook my head. His tone turned business-like and he continued, "With your income being what it is at the opera - yes Christine, I know how _little_ you make - that would not sustain a flat for you. An honest boarding house is not likely to take you for your uncommon profession. Tell me, what would you do if I had not insisted you stay here?"

I looked at my plate, the feeling of hunger failing me. "I was not aware that I had any other choices in this…you have told me I could not leave."

"Ah, but you miss my point!" he was excited all of a sudden, "If you were not mine and had not removed my mask as you had, you would be free to come and go, yes? And if you were free to come and go, where would you stay if not here?"

I told him I did not know.

"But Christine," he continued, "How vile I have been to have kept you here, under these cellars and alone with no chaperone. How indecent this is, Christine! You are a good Christian are you not?"

"I…try to be," I mumbled, unsure of where he was heading with his strange words.

"I see no other way to repair this situation, my dear. You have no other means than what I can offer you and certainly no overwhelming talent outside of the opera. By your resonating actions yesterday, you have made it rather transparent your true feelings for me. I have already proclaimed my undying devotion to you despite how very insolent _you_ have been. Factoring in your good Catholicism, there is clearly no other way to repair our situation. Christine, you must marry me. No - no, do not speak so suddenly with words you have not thought through! Remember Christine, that we are now past our lies, are we not? You have nowhere to go and I cannot have you with me without you swearing to the Almighty to be my wife!"

For the rest of the evening, my mind wandered through tears of my fate. By morning, I had accepted his proposal. By that evening, we were wed.

Today will be the first day the company is to hear me all at once. Tonight I will make my debut as a soloist. Oh, Papa! I am grateful to have grown so much in such little time, but do be with me tonight for I fear of my nerves!

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 _A/N: FF authors receive gratuities through your reviews, follows, and favorites. Thank you for your consideration :)_


	5. Entires 14-16

**Entries 15-17**

 **Entry Fifteen**

Oh, thought keeper, how do I ever explain to you all that had happened yesterday evening at the Gala? How do I form words from such astonishing emotions that I felt when I finally took the stage for my debut? Oh, thought keeper, how do I ever? I do not know if I have ever felt so many mixed feelings within only a few hours of time. There are so many to recount.

Starting with the afternoon before the Gala, I finally had a chance to sing in front of the company. I must admit, I believe I was far more anxious in front of them than I was in front of the elite of Paris. All morning I had been with the costume department as they had to alter every one of Carlotta's dresses for me. Carlotta looks far more like a Prima Donna than me. Her rib cage is wider set and I imagine one cannot see her ribs when she removes her robes. I have never been one to be gluttonous with food. Papa taught me to keep myself fit and light so that my stomach would never get so big for me to feel pains between meals. This was mostly due to our poor state when traveling, but whenever I see too much food before me, his words always resonate in my mind. Mama always said I should eat more if I were ever to look the part of a soloist. Still…I don't know. I've just never been so interested in food. How peculiar that I am married to a man who feels the same way…

By the time I reached the stage in my newly fitted costume for Juliet, the looks from the chorus were hard to miss. While I have always tried to be friendly with them, there has always been some time of boundary there. It must be my fault. I feel I am rather odd to them and now, out of seemingly nowhere, I have been chosen to rise above them in the ranks to take the role of soloist.

Moving past them as kindly as I could - nothing like how a soloist ought to react in that position - I took my place on the stage. The orchestra started the introduction to the aria and I was sure I heard my shaking inhale resonate back to me from the acoustics of the room. Two measures before my start, I began to remember all my time rehearsing with Erik. Erik, who would never let me down, who would never put me in this situation if he did not have the utmost confidence in me. An entire opera house held its doubts, but its omnipotent ghost did not. That was enough for me to take my first full breath to begin the song.

The looks of the chorus fell away. The gravity of the room no longer held me. I reached my arms around the world and opened myself to the music that surrounded me, allowing it to consume and ransack me for all I had until I was no longer bound to the earth. How do I ever describe the kind of weightless elation it is to let go of everything and simply be one with the universe at once? God, I know now that this is what heaven is like, there is joy and worth on this earth and being with the music is it!

How awful it felt for my voice to leave me as the Maestro waved his wand for the cut-off. I was earth-tied again and awaiting the judgment of all the eyes watching me. Unsure, I turned behind me to see that the chorus, stagehands, and dancers had all somehow filled the stage behind me. Their faces blank, some showing stains of tears through their heavy stage makeup, others in clear shock.

"This is when you bow, Christine," the Maestro say behind me. I nodded dumbly and curtsied as I knew how. Hands started to join and clap behind me. The sound filled the room and I heard my name chanted back and forth. I smiled shyly, nodded, and left the stage to seek water and refuge in my dressing room to change for my next scene as Margarita in _Faust_. I should not have been so surprised to have seen my husband waiting inside for me. He poured me a glass of water and handed it to me. I nodded as thanks. When I came up for air after drowning the cup, I stuttered that I was not sure if I would be able to do that again.

He questioned my words softly and very gentle like.

"I thought I was going to pass out," I told him pitifully, "I never knew it could be so scorching up there with everyone staring at me. When everyone was looking at me so cruelly before, I was sure I would get sick. Husband, how am I ever to do that again? And with all of the important patrons watching tonight?"

Leading me to a nearby bench by my elbows, he sat down with me. Even as he wore his mask before, I saw him smile with his strange golden eyes. "You were perfect, Christine."

His simple words created such a relief I let my wigged head fall to his shoulder and sought out his arms around me as he held me. As we sat there silently together, I let my mind drift to such times in my past where I had been so scared and ran to my father for comfort from whatever the cruel world tossed at me. Is it childish to admit that every so often, to be held is the only solace I could ever want from anyone? How good my husband is to be there for me when I had no one else to run to!

He whispered that a dresser would be in shortly to change my costume and I sat up. On his shoulder was a heap of power from my wig. I gasped my apology and started to brush off his thin shoulder. He took my hand lightly in his gloved one and turned back to me. Laughter came from behind his mask and I could not help but return it. I do not recall if we have ever truly laughed together like that. It was gratifying.

When my dresser did tap on the door, I stood. When I turned around again, my husband the Opera Ghost had already done his trick of disappearance. Figuring he was watching from behind the mirror, I smiled lightly to him before opening the door.

Of course, I've run out to time to continue. I'll write back again as soon as I can!

* * *

 **Entry Sixteen**

I write this afternoon as my husband composes. He says he has come upon a new inspiration and it would not be appropriate for me to ever hear. That expressed, I do not understand what could ever be worse than what I've already witnessed after having heard his _Don Juan Triumphant_. So, I write from a tea shop only a few blocks from the opera. It was too windy to stay outside today. I would have much preferred to write in a park. I know I must look odd sitting on my own writing on the fly as some journalist might. Regardless, I am thankful to have been given the chance to leave the Opera for this short period of time. Erik said I may not return before evening.

I suppose this put us at the night of the Gala. My, if I thought that singing in front of a muttering, whispering crowd of fifty cast members was difficult, hearing the roar of the aristocracy of Paris fill the house was far more deafening. I sway and shook uncontrollably from the wings as I waited for the curtain to close and open with me waiting behind it. My dresser, who could not have been older than me, smiled and whispered something encouraging to me as she tucked a lace back into the back of my dress. I was sure the weight of the wig would fall and crush my wavering head.

My feet moved forward before I could control them. When the curtain opened, the stage lights felt so very hot on my Juliet dress. The thought of Carlotta catching fire came and went from my head in that moment. While faces were not easily seen past the burning gas lights, I saw heads turning towards their programs to see who I was. I wavered in my stance. My goodness, it was so much hotter in there with the house filled as it was. A bead of sweat ran from my forehead and down the side of my face.

Two measures before I was to come in, I was sure I heard Erik's very voice in my left ear whispering in a slow hypnotic tone, "Breathe, Christine." Taking his cue, I followed his words and let the music take me once more. I rose higher and higher with the music. My weight left me and all of the people before me became a blur. I was soaring then, the heat of what felt like the sun encompassing my body. The lights became brighter as I continued to fly over everyone before me. The opera no longer held me until I felt I was at the gates of heaven itself…until the song ended and I fell to the stage once more and was met with the sound of thunderous applause.

I thought I had been able to obtain some composure as I changed into my dress for the final number of _Faust_. My dresser always has such kind things to say to me. How did I ever get paired with someone as kind as her when so many of the senior dressers can be so business minded that they come off so cruelly? I digress. Before I long, I was out on stage once again, this time, in a much lighter dress. It was somewhat refreshing to not the one to begin the song, but I could feel a kind of anticipation as the audience waiting for my entrance.

Just as Margarita moves to heaven at the end of the opera, I could feel the same weightless rise to the sky, the stage falling away, the people no longer bearing down on me, everything was right and peaceful in the music. As the number continued, I began to lose not only the rest of the world, but myself included. My notes climbed and spread until they came back to me and in hearing my own voice, I no longer knew who was singing. The number ended and as applause began, I found myself in such shock that sobs overtook me, hurling my body into incoherent waves until finally, everything was finally black and gone.

My dresser told me I had passed out then and there at the end of the aria. I must have given Paris quite a fright! When I woke, the opera doctor stood beside my dresser on my opposite side, and someone behind her. After answering a few simple questions on how I was feeling, my blurry vision sharpened and I looked at the man I did not know.

"Monsieur," I whispered, "who are you?"

"Mademoiselle," he replied kneeling gently to one knee before me as he kissed my hand, "I am the little boy who went into the sea to rescue your scarf."

After everything that had happened that day, I began to wonder if I had missed some important piece of information as I lay unconscious, but when I looked at the doctor and dresser, they began to laugh and so did I. As we laughed, my mind began to race. Raoul! My dear Raoul, my childhood sweetheart from the sea!

Oh my god, of course, I would remember him! how could I ever, ever forget our summers together in Perros? Such magic and childish mystery we shared with my father as we ran from Raoul's governess and her restrictions. My heart fluttered as I looked to the gentleman before me. While keeping his childish face and blonde curls, he had grown a mustache and broach shoulders. He was the happiness of my past staring straight back at me..and I realized that my past had died when I married Erik. Oh dear, I was married and my husband was sure to be watching this encounter from behind the mirror, ready to pounce like a cat for the kill if anything were to go against his wishes.

The man turned red and stood back up. "Mademoiselle," he said as bravely as he could despite his embarrassment, "since you are pleased not to recognize me, I should like to say something to you in private, something very important."

My voice shook, "When I am better, do you mind? You have been very good."

"Yes," the doctor came to my aid, "you must go. Leave me to attend to mademoiselle."

Suddenly, I wanted everyone out. I felt the force of Erik behind the mirror. I needed to see him. Needed to tell him that I sang for him this evening and that this man, my dear childhood friend, was no one to worry over.

"I am not ill now," I said quickly as I stood to prove my words. I felt as if my head were moving with a tide and put my hand over my eyes to try and steady it. I stopped the quick assistance from the doctor to move me to the chair once more, "Thank you, Doctor. I should like to be alone. Please go away, all of you. Leave me. I feel very restless this evening."

All three of them tried to convince me otherwise, but I stopped them once again. On his way out of the door, I was sure I heard the doctor say, "She is not herself tonight. She is usually so gentle."

His words stung a little. What was I becoming? What was my fear turning me into? And oh dear, the sadness and confusion in Raoul's eyes could not be missed as he looked back to me one last time before shutting the door behind me. The dresser quietly helped me out of my dress and wig and the freedom I felt made me want to collapse all over again. She smiled with her bundle of costume as she left and told me that my voice was nothing less than magical that night. I truly like her. She is so kind to me. I heard her laughing from outside and thought I heard Raoul's voice as well. I threw a shawl around my shoulders and looked back at the mirror pathetically. Erik was already before it, his arms outstretched like some dark god awaiting me.

"Christine, you must love me!" He barked.

"How can you talk like that?" I asked, feeling my mind swim a little, "When I sing only for you?"

"Are you very tired?" He asked holding a hand out to me.

"Oh," I sighed and walked to him, "I was sure I lost my soul tonight. Sure I lost it to heaven only to wake up here. Only now am I certain I am not dead for I know you live."

As he took my hand he pulled me close rather abruptly, "Your soul is a beautiful thing, child and I am grateful it remains within you this night. The angels wept at the sound of your voice tonight."

"Oh Erik," I whispered as he pulled me into him, suddenly unsure if I would be able to make the journey back to the fifth cellar without him having to call Cesar. My feet followed his past the odd contraption that moves the mirror and we were then in the dark passageway. He called for me lightly and when I looked up to him, his lips fell upon mine, his arms pulling me into him as the stretched behind my neck and back. The swiftness of his forward behavior took me to shock and I relaxed into him, even allowing my hands to grasp at the front of his coat.

Curling his thin long fingers into my hair, he pulled my head up somewhat forcefully as he rasped into my ear, his bony head crushing into the side of my face. "Tell me you are mine, Christine. Tell me."

"I am no one else's…I am certain." I whispered.

The hand that was once behind my back was now slipping lower and around me, down and around my thigh, until I felt his touch over the skirts covering my womanhood. I gasped at the situation of the two of us being so far from our safe abode. "Erik! We are not at home!" Even through my skirts, I could feel his cold touch moving over me slowly. I shuttered as my back arched into him, a cold shiver running sudden heat into my skull. He hissed into my ear once more, "Sing for me, my angel." Following his command and my body, I moaned brokenly into his head as he held my head in place.

The feel of a swell came from between my legs and I pushed myself further into his hand. I was awake again, so willing for him to do whatever he pleased with me so long as he would never cease whatever he was doing. I grasped at him, even pleading for more. How I did not want him to stop, how I needed him there.

You can imagine how awful it felt to have all of this ripped away then the sound of three light taps on the door of my dressing room interrupted us. It was Raoul. He was asking for me. I looked back at Erik. Oh, how the anger spit through his eyes as he turned back to the mirror. Raoul called out again, but I was not able to see as Erik roughly pulled me along. We did not speak again the rest of the way down to our house. He rounded on me in the drawing room, demanding for me to tell him who the man was for I clearly knew him.

I returned a shy answer to him. I remember how tightly my fingers were laced in my lap as I spoke with my head turned down. Why did I feel so ashamed to admit that this gentleman used to be my childhood playmate? We had not seen each other in so long. I was surprised he remembered me at all! I had often imagined that he was married by this time, living the life of the aristocracy somewhere I could never afford to see. What was wrong with me to feel so timid to tell my husband who this man was?

"Why do you look so strange? Your hands tremble, Christine!" He yelled as he paced around the drawing room. "You do not speak for anyone else in this manner!"

"I…" my words stumbled out, "It's just seeing someone from my past. I was sure it had all died with Papa and Mama Valerius. I mean, not that Raoul - Le Vicomte de Changy - had died, but I simply never saw him coming back into my life. I didn't know what to do!"

"An honest woman would have greeted him instead of acting scared out of her wits! Are you no longer honest? You acted as a fool would tonight!"

"Must you be so sadistic?" My exhaustion, my mixed feelings, everything was bubbling up and turning into the sting one feels when tears are ready to pour, "Have you ever known someone to come back to you as if from the dead? I buried my childhood when I married you. What else am I to do when I see a ghost? I know I am a horrible wife, but what more do you want of me?"

Tears consumed me and I sat with my face in my hands as I sobbed. There was nothing more to do. Of course, Erik was right, but I felt that I was just as correct in my own defense. He must have been waiting for me to cry myself out for I did not hear from him again until I was wiping my face with one of the small cross stitched clothes that I kept in my handbag. Dear Mama had given it to me. It was the last thing she stitched before her hands trembled too much to hold the needle straight.

I felt Erik's weight on the sofa. He did not reach out and I kept my eyes forward to avoid him. He spoke very quietly, just loud enough for me to hear, "Christine is a lovely wife. She is everything Erik could have ever hoped for.

Feeling particularly low on myself, I bumbled out, "I cannot see why. You said it yourself. I have no skills to offer anyone."

He reached out and took my hands, "You are enough."

His tone was certain to convince me and I did feel somewhat better. With his thin but strong arm around my shoulders, he quietly led me to my feet and off to my bedroom. He left me alone to wash my face off and remove my outer layers and returned once I was laying in bed. At first, I thought he would try to use me for the small trinket I could offer him as a wife, but instead, he sat next to me on the bed, ran his fingers through my hair, and let me drift off to sleep at the sound of his soothing voice.

The sun has fallen behind the buildings. I must return to the Opera.

* * *

 _A/N: FF authors accept gratuties through actions of reviews, follows, and favorites. Thank you for your consideration :)_


	6. Entries 17-19

**Entries 17-19**

 **Entry Seventeen**

I write with a sharpened pencil from my bed. As much as I've tried using a pen so that the words will not be smeared as easily once they're dry, my situation does not seem to allow it. This morning was dreadful. I woke up with a tight churning just beneath my stomach. As my lids were still heavy over my eyes and I had not be awoken by my husband, I did my best to curl up and attempt sleep once more. The pain increased until I wondered if using my bathroom would somehow lessen it. As soon as I sat up, I felt the wet heat begin to drip down from between my thighs.

Pulling up my nice chemise, I ran to the toilet hoping that it had not stained me…but I was too late. Oh, how embarrassed I am! Why had I not thought of this? Why had I not been counting the weeks? What was worse was that I had not taken to caring for my own laundry and there appeared to be no other being to do it but my husband. I refused to have him deal with this part of me.

Removing my chemise, I did what I could to soak and scrub the fine white cotton material clean of its red strain. Terrible cramps soon overtook me and I found myself curled up on top of the toilet once more. My mind began to wonder a bit as I sat there. It was not the first time I had woken to such pains. The first time it had happened, it was in Gothenburg. It was our first summer with the Valerius' as my father had been taken in as their patron musician. I remember this for it was before we went to France to learn of what new ideas awaited us for feminine cleanliness.

When the stains first came to my legs, I ran around in a panic trying to find Papa. I could not have been more than twelve years at the time and had not been with a mothering figure since I was six. How was I supposed to know the workings of the female body? After making a few laps around the house, I began to sob in hysterics. It was in that state that Mama found me. I exclaimed to her through my tears that I was dying and that couldn't die because it would make my papa so sad. She asked me what was wrong and when I told her she smiled kindly.

"Dear child, you are not dying! This is your body telling you it's time to live!"

She held my hand as she led me to the washroom and helped me to clean up and better prepare myself for the rest of the days that I would bleed. "It is our curse," she said, "but without it, we are not women. Without it, we are not suitable brides. This curse is our best gift."

"Am I to be married now, then? I do not want to leave Papa, Madame!"

I remember her giving me a big hug and holding me close to her bosom for a little while. With time, I found myself hugging her back. She always had a faint smell of spearmint to her. I grew to adore that smell on her. She continued, "You have budded at a good age, dear girl. That does not mean anyone ever has to know, do they? We can keep it our secret until you are ready to be wed. How does that sound?"

From my seat on the toilet, I smiled weakly. How ironic my situation was that she should die with our childish secret and I should be married days after. Mama, how I pine to know what you think of all this? If you were in your right mind before having been sent on, would you have agreed to what I have signed myself away to? How am I ever to know and what's worse and how am I ever to admit any of this to my husband?

Taking a hand towel from the washroom, I tied it up beneath my legs as best as I could, just the way Mama had taught me as a child. I found a light pink chemise in the closet and took to it as I left my soiled dress in the sink to soak. Not seeing any reason to get up any earlier than usual, I returned to my bed, a cold sweat over my temples. Feeling the ache beneath me, I curled up into the pillows. It was the sort of pain that knocks so much out of you that you can't even release a tear. I moaned into the sheets and begged for mercy from my own body. The pain was far worse than I was used to, especially without the special teas from Mama or the little vials that women sell in the marketplace to help sooth the pain. Not having been able to truly sleep the rest of that early morning, this was how my husband came to me this morning.

He questioned me slowly. He appeared to register my pain but was also very confused for my lack of responses and my inability to ready myself for the day. I saw his eyes move slowly to the washroom and I reached a hand out to stop him. "Oh please do not look!"

I could tell as he pressed forward that my words no longer were being registered. His bare hands reached into the sink and pulled out the soaked and dripping chemise. For a moment, he did not say anything. After this, he slowly put the fabric back into the sink and made his way back out to the edge of the bed. My face felt so hot and my head seemed to swim in its own sort of haze. This was the epitome of embarrassment. No new wife should have to have this sort of conversation with her husband!

"I must be such a terrible wife," I moaned into my pillow, "I've become so careless since Mama died. She would be so ashamed of me if she knew." A pang hit me in my womanhood and I curled up with a pillow with a sob. "Such a question a wife should never have to request of her husband, but I need things or I won't be able to subsist. Then I swear you will never ask you again. I can take care of it, I swear. I'll be better next time. "

His reaction was sitting on the end of the bed, his hands flat over his legs, his eyes look towards the wall before him. When he spoke, his words were of concern, "Are all women as horrified of shame as you?"

"What do you mean?" I gasped.

He looked back at me and shook his head lightly. Following this, he left the room. My eyes dried from shock and I watched the door, listening as his quiet steps passed to the drawing room towards the shelves of books. His pace stopped and I imagined him looking at different titles. When he returned I began to pull the sheet up to my chest, then realized that such behavior was exactly what he was talking about. Placing a somewhat thick black covered book on the bed, he then slid it across the sheets into my hand. Its title played to the subject of the human anatomy.

"There is such a thing as good bleeding just as there is bad bleeding. I have read about it here. Such an occurrence is normal for you, is it not?" I nodded, stunned. He straightened his back and cleared his throat, "Then I am to take this a sign of your being of good health, yes?" I nodded once again. His head dropped slightly to one side, "What is it you need? I fear I have not given you the time and resources necessary to take such care of yourself…I will go above and find what is needed. After this, you will handle such details, yes?"

I winced at the pain I was feeling and managed to nod, "Yes Erik, of course, I never meant for you to have to-"

I was cut off with his hand. Solemnly, he left me alone to deal with my aches. I took to reading the book he had left for me. What knowledge was within it! With M. Valerius, I had been taught history, art, and culture, but such teachings of what lays within the human body were not proper subjects for a young woman to learn, but this open invitation from Erik said to the contrary. And my…there were pictures too. At first, I wanted to look at what mirrored my own sex, but then…

Of course, I had seen the male figure before. There are too many pieces of art in Paris to have not! But I had not thought of it so much…then I had been deflowered and so much had happened. So I sat with this book soaking up the pages on everything I could learn. Erik eventually returned with a box in his hand that sat down in the washroom. To be honest, I hardly noticed him until he called on me.

"How are you enjoying my selection for you?"

"It is very interesting," I said honestly, "I have been told that it is not fashionable for a woman to know such things…but part of me feels as if I should know this information. Is that wrong, Erik?"

He came to sit by me on the bed, his hand rested on my knee.

"I am not at all opposed to being able to carry on intelligent conversations with my wife. Tell me if you have questions."

Thoughts of the male sex crossed my mind and I felt hot once again. "No, thank you, Erik. I do not mind reading of biologies but I dare not speak of them too!"

His light laughter helped me to smile, "My innocence, indeed." He stood and crossed to the door, "There is a special herb that nomadic woman often purchased in the market places of Persia. I have found it to relax tired muscles. Would you like some with breakfast?"

I nodded and let him leave. Within the box he left me, I found the necessary lines of cotton and was able to tie them to myself without further issue. Feeling as clean as I could, I dressed in a simple dress and joined him for the rest of the morning. He did not want to strain my voice and so he left me to rest this afternoon. I am grateful. It is hard for me to imagine how things could have possibly gone any better with my carelessness over this. It is true, Erik cannot offer me decency in physical appearance, but what he offers me otherwise has been nothing short of wonderful.

* * *

 **Entry Eighteen**

I have neglected you thought keeper, but I feel there is not too much that I have been able to report this week. Rehearsals have started once again and I am still in the chorus as I have always been. Well…I suppose that is not as true. In addition to my status as a chorus member, I also have been given titled roles and accepted to sing at a small party for the Duchess de Zurich this Saturday…Oh goodness, that is tomorrow, isn't it? Erik has been good to work with me on various pieces. I do hope she likes them.

How exciting that I am now at a status where I can make some income! This, of course, is not to be of any insult to my husband. I only intend on using the money on expenses that I do not wish for him to make for me…specifically to avoid what happened last Monday. The better news is, as expected, that time of the month has ended and I will have three weeks of normalcy once more.

I have also received an invitation from Comte de Changy's sister…I have not broached this invitation with Erik quite yet. I understood what Erik had meant when he mentioned I should not be so intimidated by the Viscount's advances. He has already seen me this week during rehearsal. It is not so strange for a patron to pass through during the start of a new season, but he was rather persistent in seeking me out after rehearsal. I tried to move away from him towards my dressing room, but he was too fast and caught me at the door. My, he hasn't changed!

"Mademoiselle Daae! I have sent you a letter," he stated a bit out of breath than was formal enough to offer me a bow, "but my messenger returned it to me. Was my information that you were living with Madame Valerius incorrect?"

"Oh…" I said slowly, "Madame Valerius has passed."

"No! How long?"

"Hardly a month. I do not want to talk of it, sir."

"'Sir?'" He laughed lightly, "Mademoiselle, do you truly not harbor any memories of me? I must admit it difficult to have ever forgotten you. Perhaps the impression you left upon me was not as meaningful to you? Do you not recall our days at Trestraou?"

"Monsieur, we are very different people now, are we not? Forgive me, as I do not want to become as Sorelli has become to your brother. Good day."

And with that…I may have shut the door of my dressing room in his face. I did not slam it! I just…Well, I saw that he was going to say something else and I did not want to hear it. You see, I'm afraid he reminds me too much of my poor papa and I do not want to retrieve such feelings of loss. And what I said was true! Everyone is well aware of Comte de Changy at the opera. He is one of many men who offer women jewels in order to hold physical claims over them. How am I to believe differently of this man's kin now that he is of age to know of such things? No…it is better that we do not speak.

The following day, my dresser gave me a note that he had given her. She said he had left it in my dressing room. I have included it here:

 _To the honorable Mademoiselle Daae,_

 _Your words from our short exchange yesterday have proven to me that you remain just as whole and honest as you were by the sea. It is true that my brother has taken some less than righteous advances with La Sorelli, but I implore you to believe that such intentions were never what I presume that you would offer me. If you can remain as true to the young lady I met so many years ago, why is it that I cannot do the same?_

 _It depresses me to hear of the passing of Monsieur and Madame Valerius'. I will always recount them as generous and welcoming people. While I understand it as no business of mine, I hope that their passing has not affected you for the worse and that you are able to make on well on your own with what you have been given. Most terrible of all is to hear that your father has not been with you for some time. I will never be able to forget his masterful playing. This musical gift was surely passed to you and I am forever indebted to have witnessed this at the gala._

 _Forgive me for being so bold, but as I treasure our memories together, I will be seeking you out again, if only for you shun me. I would like to request a chance for me to offer myself to you just as whole as I did so many years ago._

 _Yours in Recollection,_

 _Raoul_

I did not know how to accept such words! Oh, how truly awful of me to have turned on him as I did, to deny the kindness that my father had taught me! But what is there for a man of his station and a woman of mine to ever converse over now? I was able to grasp through the gossip of the corps de ballet that he is here in Paris on temporarily before he will be rejoining with the navy to explore the North Pole. My goodness…he could very well die in that kind of cold and I have shown him nothing but my poor class!

Alas, he nor anyone else knows that I am married. I do wonder, would he act the same way if he knew? Still, he must know that there can be nothing between us in any form. We are just too far apart from each other now.

And how am I ever to speak of this with my husband?

* * *

 **Entry Nineteen**

It is now Sunday and I have been out to Mass. I fear that the popularity of my coming out as a soloist has spread rather quickly. You see, in Mass, I felt the heaviness of others eyes on me just up until I turned to meet them. Some whisper and look, others approach me. The bolder ones, the ones with money and interest in knowing someone who is rising in rank are the ones to share words and questions with me. I listen. I try to be patient just as my father would have wanted and how he taught me to be. Still, I cannot help but feel that I am turning into some kind of a novelty to be bought out for something I feel I do not even own.

I have received more invitations to sing at other places, but the one that hangs heavy in my thoughts is the one from Raoul's older sister who will be coming into town for her daughter's birthday. She has written and requested for me to sing at the event…oh, but how can I? Raoul will be there and there will be no hiding from him under his brother's roof. Still, if I am to turn down without a proper reason, how am I to get other opportunities? Especially in turning down such a distinguished family as de Changy? There is so much to think about now and no one to talk with! I am sure I would go insane with you thought keeper!

The time at the event for the Duchess de Zurich was more or less uneventful. Singing with the orchestra in the grand space at the opera is one experience. Singing beside my father with his violin was just the same. Then singing with Erik…I do not know if I will ever become accustomed to his voice and playing. Then there was this event where I was accompanied by a single fine tuned piano by a quiet and someone impatient man who served as a house musician for the Duchess.

After my performance, I found myself trapped in the center of the music hall with faces crowding in around me. At the Opera, I am able to take lesser known passages to my dressing room without much notice. There, I am able to breathe and have a glass of water. Even when I was on the road with Papa I was never so crowded without someone to assist me in weaving out. There were days I took hold of his pocket and relied on his words rather than my own.

This event was very different. There was no one around me to make small talk for me and far more people seemed very interested in who I was and where I came from. Instead of water, I was offered champagne and no exit. The same questions were asked of me and I did my best to offer the same regurgitated polite answers. Every so often I was asked of my teacher and I resulted in replying that he was a "family friend not wishing for recognition."

Tired, dazed, and with cheeks reddening with from the champagne and no dinner, I saw Raoul making his way through the throng of people. Panicked, I looked every which way for the exit I had not been able to make only to be cut short by his brother the Comte. This was done so stealthily that I wonder if it had been planned. The brothers made their charming greetings as nobility will do. I clutched my empty glass to my chest. They told me they had come too late and had sadly missed my performance. The Comte did most of the talking as his brother seemed to keep trying to say something, but was not finding the right words.

"I have written the new M. Richard of the Garnier, Ms. Daae," The Comte chatted, "As you know I frequent the Opera, I am more than disappointed it has taken so long for your debut as a soloist. Expect to be in the center light far more as I have been rather insistent with this new manager."

I believe I said something relating to, "You are too kind, sir."

"Nonsense!" He pulled Raoul in closer to him in a kind familiar gesture, "And it was my young brother's idea to have you for my niece's birthday. I couldn't think of anyone better as he has told me you had met our sister briefly years ago."

"But you haven't answered." Raoul cut in shortly.

Both the Comte and I stared at his forwardness for a moment before the Comte smoothed his tone, "Raoul does make a good point. Will you be able to attend, Ms. Daae?"

I stood blankly. It had gotten so very hot in that small area and I began to feel like a little child between everyone. My mouth dropped and closed awkwardly and my eyes were dancing around the walls for an escape.

"Well?" Pressed Raoul, "It is the least you can do considering Phillipe's insistence with the managers."

Raoul did not have to make that point for me to have already understood it. The sudden realization that this life was not what I wanted to be washed over me with a cold sweat to my brow. With Papa, there was such security and happiness in the music. Performances such as these were few and far between for we were more interested in stories and traveling. And what would he have ever thought of me holding regular occupation at any opera, let alone the Garnier? Proud, surely, but if he were alive we would still be living our very simple life filled with simple people who held no strings. Raoul used to be one of those people with us. What had changed him so to turn him to using his brother's power against me?

I suddenly knew where I needed to go. Mama could not protect me and Papa was long dead. There was only one person on this earth who would look out for me and who was content with the simplicity of me singing without the world's payment…and yet it was he who made my voice this way. He, my Erik, who brought me such terrorizing attention. It occurred to me, all within seconds of dizzy thoughts, that my voice was no longer mine and therefore I did not know it any longer. Surely, if I had not given my voice - Erik's creation - to Paris, I would be sitting quietly at home. How am I to deal with such fast and backhanded play?

I said the only thing that made sense to say, "I don't know myself when I sing."

The puzzled looks fell on me. I took a shuttered breath and swayed.

"She's faint," Raoul said reaching out to me as if I were about to fall off a steep cliff. I stepped back before he could take hold of my elbow. "Christine?" he whimpered.

"I need to leave," I managed to say out loud over an odd lump that was building in my throat. My eyes found the Comte and I tried to make his picture clear, "You needn't write such dispatches to the manager on my account, M. le Comte. Excuse me, I am not feeling well. I must retire for the evening."

No longer waiting for a path to clear for me, I forged my way through the clusters of cheerful chattering guests. More attempted to reach out to me, but I pressed on until I found the main door. It was only when I slipped into a carriage that I heard Raoul's voice call my name out to the wind.

By the time I had reached Erik's house by the lake, I had managed to cry myself out enough that I was actually feeling better. I sighed before opening the door. As if waiting for me directly on the other side, the door swung open making me jump in surprise. Erik's long arms encased my shoulders and lower back. This was such a sudden event that I tensed up at first, but when I realized he was not willing to let me go so easily, I sighed into his bony chest and even took lights grasp of his finely knit shirt. Yes, he still smells of death. I cannot imagine that he will ever smell much different. But he has taken to wearing some sort of cologne as well and it is most present on his shirt. My nose seems to search for that smell over his natural scent now. It's almost relieving that my senses know him.

Suddenly, as if shocked, he rushed me inside, pushing me to sit on the sofa as he insisted on preparing tea. My eyelids became heavy as he left, but he returned while the water was heating and required my story of the evening. I told him a few things, but the main point I made was how tired I was and how nothing seemed to be working out the way I thought it would.

His tone chilled when he said abruptly, "Yes, how differently things might have turned if that Vicomte had gotten his hands on you before I did." I looked up in shock and pain, not knowing what to say. I hadn't even mentioned my conversation with Raoul that evening. He continued without me, "You have been certain not to mention him, have you not? Surely he and his sniveling brother were there! And this is why you are so late? This is why you have kept your husband up waiting for you? Worrying about you?"

The kettle began to squeal and I thought he would leave to get it. When he didn't I shook my head and told him I didn't want to talk about it.

"So Erik speaks the truth? He knows the truth for he knows his wife! How she must have enjoyed having time alone with that boy tonight!"

I mentioned the angry kettle and Erik ignored it. My hands went to my temples to fight off the looming ache. He went on saying horrible things about me plotting to run away and that God must have been the only being to bring me back. It was all nonsense and his rising voice that shook the fine relics on his mantle mixed with that awful kettle was all I could take. I quite literally stood up to him, "All I wanted to tell you tonight was how much I wanted to come home and how awful it was answer the same grueling questions over and over again from those wealthy people! I couldn't relate to them at all. I felt like a parrot! I wanted to come home and tell you that I would have rather been here tonight all along and you don't want to hear it! And if you won't remove then kettle I will!"

His golden cat eyes met mine and I saw fire within them. Not wanting to face anymore, I left, took the kettle away from the flame in the kitchen and was quick to start looking for something to help soothe my throat since all Erik seemed to want to do was make it worse by making me yell. Once finding the jars he kept with loose leaves within them, I could have screamed at him for having put them so far out of my reach. My hand pried up and feel flat. Beyond me, Erik's arm reached forward and effortlessly pulled the jar I wanted down for me. I waited a moment, wondering if he was removing the tea from me as some strange punishment or if he was meaning to make it. He shifted his weight from foot to foot like a child might do.

"Erik's wife _wanted_ to come home to him?" he asked miserably.

I nodded, "I'm not sure if I want to have another private concert again. I felt choked and all I wanted to do was leave as soon as the concert was over."

"Erik was afraid his wife might leave him. He…he cannot live without her. She is so pretty and good to him."

Somewhere, I knew he was trying to be kind. Doesn't he know I have nowhere else to go? I muttered in response, "I…I suppose I do not know what I would have done…if it hadn't been for you."

His hands clutched the jar of leaves very tightly. I wondered if he might manage to break it. Not wanting him to hurt his hands - he very much needs them to play his music - I reached out and touched him, feeling him shiver beneath me. "May I finish the tea?" I whispered. He loosened his grip as if shocked as I took the glass from him and followed through with making the tea. He did not say anything during this and I had to ask him to return to the study with me. My request was obeyed and he sat down on the sofa with me rather than his chair as I sipped the soothing hot liquid.

"Erik…" he stumbled out after I was half way through my cup, "Erik," he continued, "he loves his wife. He loves his wife very much. And she does not have to love him back. No one can ever…but so long as she returns to him, he will stay alive for her."

Not being able to make sense of his strange words, I nodded, and said, "That would be nice, Erik."

"She thinks," he started and continued, "She thinks her husband is" he paused as if forming the word over his tongue, "nice…to her."

Sighing again and wanting to be rid of his referencing to us as an unrelated couple I responded, "I think _you_ can be very nice to _me_ , Erik."

I went to clean up my cup and passed by him in the study before going to my bedroom. His eyes were wide and yearning from the sofa and I felt such pity for him in that moment. It was as if he wanted to say something, wanted to reach out to me and somehow was restrained where he sat. Knowing that this was my own choice even if it was for him, I held out my hand to him. It took him a long time to make his way to me, a very, very long time, but once his cold thin hand was in mine, I slowly made our way to my bedroom. He did not ask for so much and the gifts he has given to me have been countless. I have found myself with someone who wishes for me to stay at home with him as much as I long to be away from what happened tonight. Such wifely duties were the least of what I could offer.

He was so gentle with me that night. I recall thinking that I wished he would be like that with every time we shared intimacy. His kisses were like feathers of my body, his hands like whispers. With his kind humming in my ears, he assisted in helping me remove my tight wrappings until I was clad only in my chemise before him. He held me to him and I felt a bit odd with him keeping all of his evening wear while I was so bare before him. We swayed lightly to his humming and my head fell to his chest, my eyes closing.

When I opened them again, the candle had been stamped out and my weight was supported by the mattress rather than my feet. His kisses and soft caresses were so light it almost felt as if a ghost were with me rather than the man I knew him to be. The chemise was pushed up to my hips and the cold air on my legs was not so pleasant. My mind swam a little as his thin lips fell lower to my stomach, staying there for only a little while. He pulled away only slightly and, as I could not see his eyes for he was either turned down or closing them, I wondered if he were still with me in the room.

This curiosity did not last for so long for I soon felt his hands embracing each of my thighs, his kisses returned, this time lower and remarkably fainter until I knew exactly where he was and I gasped in intense shock. I do not know if he heard me or felt my reaction somehow, but he continued to kiss me atop my womanhood over and over with his thin cold lips, his hot breathing making the feeling bearable, almost…almost _enjoyable_ , even. At some point of him doing this, my hands shook and clutched the comforter below me and a new voice came up and caught my throat, my clenched teeth being what held it at bay.

When he placed himself inside of me, he seemed to move more easily than he had in the past. There was a much smoother push and pull and he was slow and so very tender. He cradled my head in one of his hands as he leaned over me and the bed. At one point I even reached around his back for I felt a new consuming need to keep him as close to me as I could. Moments later he shuttered and made to abruptly pull himself away from me. I clutched him, my womanhood not willing him to depart, but he moved away entirely, gasping the words, "No-no, I cannot."

The warm, now familiar, thick liquid oozed over my thigh and I whimpered without thought of his breaking our comfortable connection. After cleaning up what I now know from his science book to be his seed, he stroked my head with long fingers and whispered, "No dear, Erik will not do that to you. No matter how difficult you make it for him. Be quick to wash my love, and I will sing you to sleep."

* * *

 _A/N: FF authors receive your gratitude through reviews, follows, and favorites. Thank you for the consideration :)_


	7. Entries 20-21

**Hi there...yeah it's been a little while :/ I just wanted to thank the few of you who took the time to review on my last chapter. You asked how I was doing and that you wanted to keep reading. That was kind. Thank you :)**

 **I recommend that if you have been regularly been following this story to re-read the chapters up until this one as I have done some minor rewrites that I'm hoping will help with the flow of things.**

* * *

 **Entries 20 - 21**

 **Entry Twenty**

This past fortnight has been quiet. The majority of my time has been spent in a simple routine. In the early mornings I have my uniform lesson with Erik and by the late morning, I am in rehearsal until the early evening. From there, I make my journey home under the opera house and share a undemanding meal with my husband. As I no longer receive postal delivery at Mama's flat, people are now seeking me out through my personal box for business related matters that is located in the offices of the opera. At first, I was under the impression that the managers would find this as an annoyance, but it turned out to be quite the contrary. It brings them great excitement to see private messengers carrying the crest of the wealthiest of Parisian society. Granted…I cannot say that I know this first hand. All of my information from there comes from what Erik has arranged. One evening after supper I had emptied my handbag over a small side table in the drawing room. My husband questioned this and as I opened the letters I informed him of the nature of their content. I was humbled and terrified to find that these letters were from admirers who had either seen or heard of me from those in attendance at the gala. More people were requesting my presence for performance and private gatherings. It was overwhelming. With a lost stare, I looked to my husband and shook my head.

"How am I to do this again? How am I to stand before these strangers and speak of my poor class and secretive teacher? I do not even feel that my voice is my own anymore. How am I to share it with anyone else ever again?"

I remember Erik making a move to pick up the letters, but stopped himself short. He straightened and asked to see them. I wasn't entirely sure what to make of the gesture. Was he asking to see my correspondence out of respect for my privacy? I doubted that. Realistically, he asking because I was in front of him and would know that he felt he had natural permission to my person inquiries. Nonetheless, I handed them all to him with an exasperated sigh. He read over them slowly and set them down again.

"This is what I told you would happen, my dear. Are you so taken aback?"

I sighed and furrowed my brow, "I didn't realize so much would be happening so fast. _Everything_ has been happening rather rapidly. I feel I don't know myself at all anymore!"

My husband placed a long hand over my arm and spoke softly, "Remain calm, dear girl. My intentions were never to exploit you in a fashion that did not suit you. You may perform as little or as often as you wish so long as you never cease singing for me."

I thought about this for a moment. That concept was and still is so much of a double edge! Whenever I performed, I could go out and have another world beyond the cellar or I could stay in the cellar. Forever. These impressions consumed my every free thought. What did I want…What _do_ I want?

More mail came in each day and Erik no longer seemed as interested in it. If I didn't know any better, I would say it was as if he already knew what the letters beheld. Oddly enough, the wax signatures appeared unscathed. I dare not ask my husband about this. He would surely accuse me to broken trust in him….but still. I do wonder. I can't seem to help myself. He will forever hold a mystery over me that I don't believe I will ever understand.

On one unassuming day, my dresser came to me with a blush over her simple attributes. She spoke of a handsome boyish looking man with fair features and exciting blue eyes who requested she deliver his letter straight to me. My mixed feelings on my childhood friend pursuing me and not exactly being able to see him were not assisted by her silly giggles and curious sideways smiles. She was clearly smitten with him. Something about that made my eyes narrow. I cannot place exactly why that is.

I would include his letter here, but I fear of what my husband would do if he ever found this thought keeper. Within his note, he spoke of his frustration with my inconsiderate lack of response to his former letters…letters that I am sure I never received. Do you see why I am skeptical of my husband's private actions around the Opera? No, I have no certification of my thoughts and my vows demand that I should not doubt him…but where did these letters go? I swear I never saw them!

Nonetheless, Raoul questioned me endlessly on how I could have possibly become so cold over the years. Considering I had never even received his letters, his words hurt me in a way I didn't think possible. It felt as if Papa had come back from the dead and was asking me why I hadn't talked to him recently. What sense is that? Raoul, my long lost first love, and dear friend, now believing the worst of me. What was I to do with such feelings? I wanted to speak with him. I wanted to ask how he was doing and to know what he had been up to all these years we were apart. How is it that fate could bring us together again in such a way? Surely there is a reason for it…

I digress. There is so much to think about when all one can do is think. I decided to perform a charitable event for orphaned children. That seemed sheltered enough. This was only two days following the letter I had received and considering my anger and hurt, I had not been able to respond. As fate should have it, Raoul, his brother, and his sister were set to be there. I discovered this the day before the event and that evening Erik was in one of his most foul of moods.

That afternoon, I was sitting in the drawing room cross stitching a rather intricate design. It was a collaboration of symmetry and circles called mandalas. Erik said the design was uncommon in Europe but was very popular in the Middle East. The new pattern was a gift from him to me a week or so prior. He told me that men and women would make entire tapestries filled with these designs. They must be faster than me. I'm sure I would never be able to complete such a feat!

Erik's entry into the little home was so abrupt and sudden that I managed to prick myself with the needle. He slammed the door behind him and I was sure the house would topple down with his might. As I lifted my bleeding finger to my lips to try and stop the puncture, I could hear him taking off his overcoat and muttering to himself in a language I couldn't understand. It would not surprise me if he knew ten different languages. In this mood, he came into the drawing room and I thought it best not to mention his temper. Sometimes I am able to let his anger burn out on its own, but this was not one of those occasions. He threw my correspondence on the side table and made me jump. I stopped what I was doing, but did not take the letters. He had stopped muttering, stopped moving, and stood tall and menacing before me.

"Wife," he said curtly. I looked up at him in confusion to see he was holding a letter in his hand. It was opened and torn on either side was the de Chagny crest. My chest tightened and my bleeding finger fell from my mouth. "So you are not ignorant to what this is, eh?" he responded.

I countered him honestly, "I recognize the seal, yes. But I assure you I am unknowledgeable to its content." Annoyance and distrust crept through me and I added, "However, I believe I can assume that you know full well."

In an awfully dramatic and uncomfortable act, Erik proceeded to read the letter aloud to me. Of course, it was Raoul. He was apologizing for his previous letter. He said he understood why I had not replied and how rude he was to live on the presumption that I was a vile person. He said he would be at the charity event for the orphan children and hoped to apologize in person following the performance. His words were undoubtedly kind and sincere, however, Erik reading them was anything but. His biting tone, almost growling timbre made me want to retch. Holding the letter to my face once finishing the content, Erik boomed, "WHAT LETTER IS HE SPEAKING OF?"

Part of me wanted to lie about everything, to say that I had never received a letter and had no idea what he was talking about. But I did receive a letter. The letter said that there had been other letters. Here Erik stood, an opened letter addressed to me in his hands. Clearly, he had not been honest either. His proof of deception was in his hand directly before my eyes. My own anger swelled.

My nose stuck up at him as I spoke, "I was sure that your retrieving my mail was out of kindness, but now I see it is due to your failing trust in me."

"And for a plausible reason! What letter are you hiding from me?"

I stood, "What letters are _you_ hiding from me?"

His response was low in tone, "None that concern you."

"Am I not allowed to read my own correspondence? Do you not believe me able to handle my own affairs?"

"Your affairs are mine now. You are my wife and there is to be nothing between us!"

"I have told you everything-"

He spoke through his teeth, "Your lies are too pretty for your own good, my dear. Shall I rummage through your room and search it out for myself?"

Knowing the letter was in my handbag that sat next to me I responded, "Go ahead and tell me what you find! If you will trust me to spare your time, I can assure you that it is not there, but back with Raoul."

Fortunately, he did not catch my lie as he was ready to collect ammunition against me.

"So you admit your treachery!"

"No! I admit that I read one cruel letter from him and sent it straight back. He was truly spiteful to me and spoke of letters I knew nothing about. The letter was delivered by my dresser and I swiftly returned it to her hands once read. Perhaps M. le Phantom would like to discuss the matter with her? I assure you she'll be as honest in her report as I have been!"

Yes. That was all a lie. The letter was with me and in the very book, I write in. But I could not tell him that! Not when he was as angry as he was! Rather than let him stare me down from his place of higher stature, I snatched the letter from his hands and threw it in the fireplace. The ink smeared and the wax seal dropped away as the fire consumed the letter with ease. I looked back at Erik.

"Now, would you like to tell me what other letters he was speaking about and where they might be?"

"No," he responded coldly.

"Then you admit to keeping them from me?"

"His intentions are not honorable, Christine."

"Did he say in his letters what his intentions were? Please tell me so that I may be better protected." I spoke sarcastically. I know Raoul to be forthcoming, but not violent.

"A man in his station should not be sending letters to a married woman."

I threw my hands up, "Would you like for me to tell him I'm married?"

"No. He will run his mouth to his brother and your career will be threatened. Until you are a diva, no one can know and even then, there will be more questions asked of you that will be difficult for you to answer. I won't have our progress taken away."

"Then what would you like for me to do? You seem to know so much more than I do about this considering you've been stealing my letters."

"I am not the only man who would be skeptical of my wife sharing words with a young single man! His brother brought him into town to be a man about town before his exhibition. Do you, in all your pretty fantasies, understand just what that means?"

"I know the reputation of le Comte de Chagny as well as anyone else at the opera."

"His brother is no different, Christine. What a lovely catch you would be for him, my dear. An aspiring soloist with a wholesome reputation and quiet life. You are meant to be a wife, but he cannot marry you from his station. There are only so many eccentricities that a man wants if not to make a woman his wife and he will come for them just as any other man would."

My patience was gone, "Is that what his letters entailed? That he wanted to make me his whore?"

"He may not know his meaning yet, but I can assure you that is the case. And when he leaves you, he will find another woman and another just as all the nobility do. From there, you will be one of many, washed up and with your reputation soiled for all of Paris to spurn until you are nothing."

I sat down, crossed my arms and looked away from him, "You speak dishonorably, Erik. I have only known him to be good and gentle."

That was the wrong thing to say. He made his way over to the couch where I sat and moved my cross-stitching farther away. He sat next to me, his leg hardly a breath away from my own. His body was solid as stone and I did what I could to keep my composure.

"Tell me, _wife_ , just how well do you know him?"

Just the thought that he could be insinuating anything beyond a platonic relationship with my long lost friend made me furious! For him to mark me as such an honest girl to be kept away from Raoul at all times only to be thrown back into that pit was too much to bare. I planned to stand and state my dedication to the vows I made to God, but he placed a hand over my wrist. "Well?" he gritted his teeth.

I looked him straight in his golden eyes and answered, "I know him from before I moved to Paris. I know him in no other ways and I find it beyond the pale that you would conjecture another story in your jealousy!"

As if to drive in my point, I tried to stand and leave the room, but he held tight to me. His masked face moved very closely to mine and I leaned back into the sofa until he stopped. His eyes peered into mine as if searching for whether my answer was truthful or not. Then, quite suddenly, his arms had encased my back and his head was to my breast. I felt his body shiver and realized he was crying.

"My little wife is so good to me!" He cried, "She is so good to Erik and would not betray him. Erik is vile. Erik would make his good wife out to be something she is not!"

He continued like that for a little while. While there was a part of me that felt victorious in his apology, I couldn't help but still be a little angry. Yes, I had hidden one letter, but he had been reading and hiding who knows how many?! What else is he hiding from me? Pressing the thoughts away from my mind, I took a different route and held him instead in an attempt to calm him. My anger faded naturally when I thought about just why he would be so jealous. Raoul is a handsome man whereas he is not. He has never had to see me be courted by anyone and surely does not know how to handle the situation. I only wish he would trust me! I believe I have done nothing to deserve anything other than trust!

I held him to me for some time, even taking the liberty of stroking the back of his head with my hand. He doesn't have much hair and his skin is smooth on the back of his neck. Once I believed him to be calm, I asked if we would be having dinner together. He nodded and stood quickly saying he would prepare it for me.

The next morning before rehearsal, I sent a letter to the charity organizer telling them I would not be able to attend that evening. To say I was sick would have been a lie considering I spent my day rehearsing. I am ashamed to say I gave them no excuse, for I had none to give.

* * *

 **Entry Twenty-One**

I've written Raoul. I have told him I would be leaving tomorrow for Perros as it is the anniversary of my poor father's death and he is buried there with his violin. I write in a state of past thought as my mind cannot escape the times he and I shared together when we were children. Perros-Guirec, which is in Brittany, is where the Valerius' summer home used to be. Mama sold it to cover the costs of the in-home nurse near the time of her death. In her poor state, she would ask me about the house and if the curtains would be open for us in the summer…I always told her yes.

Raoul and I met at an inlet called Trestraou by those who know of it. Papa and I had just come home to the summer house after our spring travels in the country. Papa would play to the sound of the wind and waves on the beach and I would skip along and sing with his songs for hours on end and I saw nothing else but him. On a particularly windy day, I lost the knot in a little red scarf that had been gifted to me by Professor Valerius. The last time I tried to swim, the current had swept me off my feet and I found myself too scared to rush into the waves after a little flash of red that flew to them. Just as tears began to sting my eyes, a little boy no older than myself hollered out behind me, "It's all right, I'll go and fetch your scarf out of the sea."

The boy dove into the waters and I ran out just far enough for my feet to meet the water when it rushed in. Papa stood far enough behind me for the water not to splash his violin and even as Raoul's guardian cried out in anger, the next thing I knew, my little red scarf was being returned by a dashing young boy who was soaked to the skin. Before I could say a word, the woman, who I later discovered with his aunt, had grabbed Raoul's arm and was scornfully pulling him away from the water's edge. I ran to catch up to them and she stopped when I blocked her path. Not knowing what else to do and having no understanding of customs for those above working class, I curtsied unevenly on the sand and leaned quickly in to kiss my savior's cheek.

With the permission of our benefactor, Raoul started to take regular violin lessons with Papa that summer. Even as he had no passion for the instrument, he did whatever he could to receive a smile for his efforts. He began to stay with us later and later into the days as he took to hearing Papa's stories almost as much as I did. Our favorite of all of these was that of the Angel of Music who would sing to the most worthy and goodly of girls…I nearly forgot myself. I thought I could smile again as I wrote of our memories and fairy-tale stories…but not since the Angel of Music turned into Erik.

Three years passed between that summer and the next before I was to see Raoul again. By that time, the Professor had passed from fever and my Papa had been told by the family doctor that if he did not get out of Paris in time, he would likely catch consumption. He had been coughing for years. The first time I saw Raoul after three years was quite different. He was taller, his shoulders broader, and he spoke in so refined a tone, I knew my playmate was quite grown and on his way to being a man. We spent days speaking of nothing in the garden, my father would watch and smile from the window. My cheeks flushed whenever Raoul nodded, and there was a stir in my stomach that both sickened and drove me. He took to holding my hand in the early evenings as we spoke and I could see nothing but him…until he left.

"Mademoiselle, I shall never forget you!" were his final words as he stepped into a fine carriage shining with his family's crest. He had kissed me on the hand before he left. I held it to my heart with trembling lips and soaked eyes as I stood dumbly in the middle of the quiet street long after his carriage had left. He was and is a viscount. There is not, nor shall there ever be a future between us. At least, not a respectable one. And despite what some may conclude of those in my occupation, I will be respectable to my good father in heaven. He would have wanted nothing more than my honor, livelihood, and music to remain with me always. And it has now. And I should be happy. I mean, I _am_ happy. As happy as I suppose to could be. All my needs are met. What more is there?

I wonder if Raoul will come at all. I sent my letter after midday. It will likely not get to him until late evening or early morning. The messenger told me he had many errands to fill this particular day. I didn't exactly invite Raoul to come. I simply told him I would be going. If he has any respect, he will not come. I don't know why I'm wasting such time writing about the impossible. If Erik was correct, as he so often is, Raoul intentions with me are as dishonorable as his brother is with Sorelli. I should not waste my time…yet even now, there is a small flutter in my stomach at the thought that we might be together again in the very place where we found such true happiness.

I feel I have caught myself in a lie. I haven't been completely honest with myself. It must be just passed midnight and here I am wide awake with my thoughts rather than in bed. I told my husband to leave me be this evening. He has arranged a private cabin for us tomorrow on the morning train. He told me he normally travels where others cannot find him, but he would make the exception to stay with me. I was half-way hoping he would leave me be. Not because I am planning a scandal, but simply because I wanted some time alone to myself…however, seeing as I invited Raoul…well, not technically, but…oh what have I done?

I didn't mean to tell Erik of my letter the way I did. I had every intention of telling him what I had done calmly and professionally. I only needed him to listen…but things are never so easy with my husband. As he delivered my correspondence to me before supper, he was muttering about "talentless patrons meddling with his opera." Thinking it might be a way to calm him, I questioned what he meant. He…did not seem to appreciate my effort in the slightest for he clapped back with an awful, "You inquisitive girl! Is it not enough that I offer you the world? Why must you also know of my biddings above the cellars?!"

With my forehead tied and my hands in fists, I stood. Despite my letter, this was no way for him to be treating me! I couldn't imagine anyone else who would care to ask him about his day. I stood my ground for a moment, just as he stood his. There was an odd thick air between us until I finally faltered and made my way to the kitchen. I had been preparing a stew that afternoon and intended to eat it alone if he was to continue with his fit. It was well after I sat down with my bowl and started eating that I felt him approach. A long thin hand closed upon my right shoulder and I lowered my spoon back to the bowl. I waited for him to speak first.

"You are a good little wife to ask of my days…" He said quietly above me, "but I assure the subjects I keep are of no consequence to your lovely ears." His following words sounded as if they were moving from one of my ears to the next, even as I knew he could not be moving so quickly. Another one of his many tricks.

It was at that moment I chose to more or less forgive him in order to carry some stock back into my view point to the letter. I sighed, "Will you sit with me, husband."

He made no sound as he moved to the opposite side of the small table. We did not speak for a little while. He eventually asked me how I was being treated "in the world above." I told him no different from what I was used to. He nodded. As if fate was working either for or against me, Erik was the one to bring up Raoul.

"Your sniveling viscount still asks of you."

"I hold no claim over anyone," I retorted, "and I do not appreciate your meaning."

"Am I to expect you to be faithful to someone like me?" He leaned back and laughed, "Do you find me handsome, Christine? More handsome than your young man?"

"If you are to assume the worst of me when I have been nothing but faithful to you, I shall go straight to bed without another word."

"Wasn't it Christ that warned against keeping adultery in one's heart? Even to look at another with lust is a sin, Christine."

I stood, "How dare you? How dare you accuse me of being unfaithful?"

"You are not conducting yourself as a faithful woman would. If you had no feelings for him you would openly speak to him and let him know. You would remark him as a gentleman and give the past what is due. You do not speak to him because you know of the dishonorable lust in your heart!"

I laughed back at him, "It appears it is you who has grown lazy in their duties, M. le Opera Ghost for I have written the Viscount de Changy to inform him of tomorrow's significance to me in Perros."

He froze as a cat would when having a light shined on it after having been in the dark. I kept my nose high and my feet flat as he pondered my words. When he did speak, his voice was low, nearly like a growl, "Is this why you wished to go alone?"

I faltered and answered quickly, "No."

"How curious it is that you would request to go without me…only to invite him."

"That's not how it is. You aren't listening to -"

All in one swift movement the table had been flipped over. I stumbled backward into my chair, but before it too could be turned, Erik was upon me, his arms outstretched to each side of the chair, steadying it. His masked face was directly before me, hardly a breath away. I could hear his harsh breathing through his teeth as he inched closer to me. Through the chair, I could feel the strength of his arms as they shook with rage. Feeling quite hopeless, a tear fell from my eye and rolled down my cheek slowly. I closed my eyes attempting to escape his awful gaze and stuttered out, "Are you going to beat me?"

A slew of curses left his tattered mouth as he threw himself far away from me to the other side of the room. The first coherent thing I remember him say was, "What kind of monster do you think I am? Is it not curse enough that I was born dead? Now I must beat you? How easy must it be for you to believe that I would do such a thing? Do you believe that I take you to bed by force too? Is that it? Is that where you make up these notions of me?"

"You broke the table," I mumbled eyeing the twisted legs.

"Damn the table! Do I take unworthy advances from you, Christine? Answer me!"

"No."

His balance left him only slightly before he regained it. His golden eyes were cast down for a moment and a hand went roughly went through what little hair he had left. He looked up again, this time appearing as a much more genuine man, "No?"

"No," I repeated, "I feel I always give you permission…one way or another."

"You swear this? You swear I'm not forcing you?" he sounded so broken.

"I swear."

He crumbled to the floor and placed his masked head in his hands. My name was repeated from his lips as he began to cry. This tall intimidating man now a heap of sobs across the kitchen from me. Of course, I was still angry from his insinuations. I am not much to offer a man besides what is expected, but at least I have my honesty in tact…more or less anyway. How did this situation keep happening? Was I the one to blame for my husband breaking into pieces more than twice in a week? Surely not!

Slowly, I stood and began to cross to him, my feet careful to avoid the shattered porcelain bowl and what was left of my meal that now littered the kitchen floor. I went to him and knelt to his level. He spoke words of love and requested forgiveness and all I could think to do was pull his hands away from his face and pull him to my bosom as one might do with a child. These actions worked well enough in the past. I merely hoped this would be something I could do to calm him when he needed it.

His arms tightly wrapped around me and he pressed his face into my neck. Not knowing much else to do, I held him to me and breathed as slowly as I could. Eventually, his mask began to irritate my neck. To alleviate the situation, my right hand gently tugged at the neat bow behind his head as my left carefully removed the garment. He spoke and I hushed him, "We're all right, husband. We're all right. I'm right here."

"Christine," he moaned into my neck and I felt the sharp bones of his cheek and craves that was to be his nose. "You're all I live for. You're all I ever want. If you leave me I'll die. I'll die."

"I'm not going anywhere, Erik."

"But you are young. You do not know your heart as I do. He is young and handsome and he wants you badly. Anyone can see that. Men are vile Christine. Such men would beat you for they do not see you for what you are. You are an angel, Christine. I do not deserve you. No man deserves you."

While his words reignited my anger at the ignorance he held towards my old friend, I put those feelings aside as it was no time to contradict him for an idea he could not seem to see past. "I've chosen you, Erik. Leave these ideas alone. If le Viscount does follow us to Perros-Guiric I will thank him for his paid tribute to my father and tell him there is no future between us face to face. He and I are no longer children. I see it whereas he does not."

"Society will allow him to use your femininity-"

My body tensed and I pushed him from me with all my might. That was enough! "Do you take me for a whore?" His eyes cast down and I repeated, "Do you? Is that all I am to you? Did you think me so common? Before our wedding night there was no one else and nor shall there be but you!"

"Tell him," he said quietly once his eyes had met mine again, "Tell him you are married."

A part of me was relieved as this was what I wanted all along, but I wanted to counter him too as he was the one who continuously told me to do otherwise. "And who should I tell him I'm married to?"

"A recluse who does not want to affect your career by forcing you into performing the duties of the home and private affairs. If he is the man you trust him to be, he will cease his advances and keep this information to himself."

Relieved that I would be able to tell Raoul the truth, I took Erik's hand and smiled softly, "I will tell him. Thank you."

With that, Erik assisted me from the floor and told me he would clean the mess he had made. That night he played violin for me by the fire. I sat and listened to him for hours, not able understand the concept of time as it had no meaning whenever Erik played. My thoughts drifted to what Papa would think of my situation. There I was, sitting five floors below one of the most prestigious opera houses in Europe with a man who looked little like a man, but played the violin as an angel and sang as a god. Dear Papa, what would you think of your Little Lotte? Who followed your stories into the land of no return?

It is too late for such thoughts. They could easily continue to fill my head until morning. I will retire these thoughts for dreams for now. Tomorrow will prove itself to be long enough without further distraction.

* * *

 **It's been a lot of fun to revisit Leroux's novel with the changes made to this story. If you've read it, you know what is coming next :) As always, FF writers receive thanks in the form of reviews, favorites, and follows. I always appreciate what you leave me and can always use the kind word of encouragement when life takes my creativity elsewhere.**


	8. Entries 22-25

**Entries 22-25**

 **Entry 22**

I write to you from the tea shop nearest to the Opera. An old Indian woman owns this establishment and insists upon hiring working class women to serve here rather than men. I caught eyes with her when I pulled out this journal. She nodded and smiled like she understood why I was here to write…but that is not practical. She cannot possibly understand that I cannot write under my husband's enormous roof without him being otherwise transfixed. Part of me relates to her working class. It appears that all of the women workers here are treated respectfully and I am not the only woman by herself today. I cannot afford membership only social clubs where women would otherwise be able to meet indoors, both in pairs and on their own, and not be questioned. This has turned out to be an odd haven.

I returned from Perros earlier this week and required a full day of rest. What has normally turned out to be a peaceful trip of mourning in years past turned into quite the delirium this year. To begin, traditionally my train ride was that of silence with the occasional conversation with a traveler that may have found themselves sharing my row. This time, I found myself only with Erik and not even a train employee to break up the travel. After I had boarded and had both my ticket and Erik's ticket checked at the door of the train car, I was given a private quarters assignment near the end of the car. When I stepped in, Erik was already situated behind the door and nearly scared me as I had not expected anyone else to be in there. I asked him how he had gotten in the car without having had his ticket and he shrugged. "I merely purchased the ticket to appease your good judgment." He said, "A ghost most commonly travels beyond perception and free of monetary demand."

This was another battle I chose not to indulge in. How Erik travels is his business and I couldn't have him believing I didn't want him accompanying me. Besides my change in atmosphere, the ride was uneventful. I watched as the city turned to country from the view of the window. While the heat in the car was on, I kept my furs tight to my shoulders. As the time in the train progressed, I could see the light gray clouds gather over the sky. Taking notice of my eyes, Erik mentioned that it was likely to snow. It would be the first snow of the early winter. The cold never ceased to remind me of my time in Sweden when I was younger. I feel that someone born so far north should not be as regularly cold as I am. I grew up under my father's warm arm and he was masterful at filling a fire with ongoing tales of summer. I asked Erik if he might allow me to return to my homeland once it was warmer and he nodded.

"We will go where ever you wish to go. I have only been to Stockholm for a short period and that was under less agreeable conditions. It would be much more appealing to travel there for pleasure."

"What is it that you found yourself last there for?" I asked thinking it might spur a conversation.

He looked past me out the window, "Nothing that concerns a pretty young lady such as yourself. My past, my dear, is one not fit for a pleasant conversation to pass the time."

I returned my eyes to the small town we had slowed to pass through, "I do not mean to pry," I replied quietly.

"You are kind to want to ask me of my travels with no intention beyond harmless discussion. However, for your delicate nature, I find it necessary to keep my past confined to abridged tales."

There are times when I am uncertain if my husband is belittling my ability to handle some of the nastier details of the world. I have been exposed to death and disease on my travels as well as in Paris. The three closest beings in my world have all since perished to death. Due to my depression of not dealing with such losses well, I have suffered in attaining close personal relationships with those in the chorus. The person I find myself speaking the most with at the Opera is my dresser and she is too socially fashionable with everyone to share mutually friendly thoughts of me. And so I am left with my husband as my one ongoing companion. A recluse, himself, with a strange sense of humor and an ironic take on the ways of the world.

Once I checked in at the humble Setting Sun Inn, I made my way to midday mass at the small church neighboring the cemetery Papa is buried at. Erik left me to do this saying that the only place of worship for him was the alter of music and beauty. I left him at the back door of the Inn. Before I hurried off into the wind, he placed a tentative hand on my forearm.

"I shall play for you this evening if that would not offend you."

"I find your skills far from an offense, husband."

"Very well. The next you shall hear of me will be midnight. I will be waiting for you in the cemetery. You will not see me, but you will hear all that is important."

How odd my husband is! I nodded in response.

"I leave you to carry out what you must today. I trust you not to dishonor me. I hold no doubt that he will be arriving on the late morning train."

He meant Raoul. I assured him he had nothing to worry about and his response was to lightly squeeze my arm. There was a sense of desperation in his contact and I gently placed my opposite hand over his. "You are good to me, Erik. I look forward to our rendezvous."

He nodded and released my arm. As I turned to make my way to the little church not far down the dirt road, it began to snow.

My time is limited here and I must return before my husband grows suspicious. I hope to write you again at tomorrow's rehearsal.

* * *

 **Entry 23**

For no apparent reason that I am aware of, Erik was rather sweet to me last night after I returned home yesterday evening. I suppose I was expecting Erik to have been either too tired from composing to have been social with me, but when I returned he had baked chicken prepared for supper and offered me a light wine to accompany it. I told him of the tea shop I had enjoyed visiting and he spoke of some personal matters between the manager's wives that I had no business knowing. He told of their marital issues as if they were a joke and laughed at the private nature of the concerns. When I asked him how he could know of such things he told me that any secret exclaimed under the opera, no matter how quiet, would never remain hidden from him. Part of me wondered if he meant to expose me in some way for something I was hardly even aware of, but he changed the subject. Afterward, he played one of his original compositions for me at the piano. The rest of the evening was pleasant and I vaguely remember him carrying me to my bed. He woke me before he left my bedroom to tell me to change into my nightgown before falling into a deeper sleep. I thought he would return once I had changed, but he did not and I slept alone.

Back in Perros, I had barely returned from Mass when Raoul walked into the smokey sitting room of the Setting Sun Inn. I was already smiling and could not justify showing any surprise at his being there. Bag in hand, he approached me.

"So you have come," I said casually, "I felt that I should find you here when I came back from mass. Someone told me so."

With his free hand, he took mine urgently, "Who?"

In hindsight, I suppose I should not have mocked his feelings. I spoke somewhat sarcastically, "Why, my poor father, who is dead."

He was stunned into silence as he tried to piece my words together. After an unsteady breath, he finally asked, "Did your father tell you that I love you, Christine, and that I cannot live without you?"

Such words! How was I ever to accept them? What did he expect from me then? To run away with him into the sunset? Or perhaps - God forgive me - he had the intentions Erik expected. Perhaps he would have preferred I run upstairs with him while my husband was away? No…it's Raoul…how can I think such thoughts of him? What has happened to me?

I felt heat on my neck and cheeks at his brash confession and looked far away from him. I return his words to him without favor. "Me?" I asked breathlessly as the child in me caused my heart to pound, "You are dreaming, my friend!" Embarrassed laughter sprang from my throat.

"Don't laugh, Christine; I am quite serious," he said rather humorlessly.

Knowing the truth of my married state, I answered him gravely, "I did not make you come to tell me such things as that."

He snapped back, "You 'made me come,' Christine; you know that your letter would not leave me indignant and that I should hasten to Perros. How can you have thought that, if you did not think I loved you?"

I shuttered a little. He wasn't making this easy, "I thought you would remember our games here, as children, in which my father so often joined. I really don't know what I thought… Perhaps I was wrong to write to you… This anniversary and your sudden appearance in my room at the Opera the other evening reminded me of the time long past and made me write to you as the little girl I then was…"

His grip on my hand tightened in anticipation, "When you saw me in your dressing room, was that the first time you noticed me, Christine?"

I was already too weary to lie, "No, I had seen you several times in your brother's box and also on the stage."

"I thought so!" he said through his teeth, "But then why, when you saw me in your room at your feet reminding you that I had rescued your scarf from the sea, why did you answer as though you did not know me and also why did you laugh?

His words and mannerisms were too familiar. He spoke as one might to a wife or a mistress as if he possessed some ownership over me to keep me from chastising him for approaching me in such a way in public. My features hardened. I owed him nothing and yet his tone almost made me want to submit to him. The aspiring young woman with nothing to lose but her heart was fighting to burst forward. I felt a desire to apologize and yell at him all at the same time. When I did not reply he spoke.

"You don't answer," he said angrily, "Well, I will answer for you. It was because there was someone in the room who was in your way, Christine, someone that you did not wish to know that you could be interested in anyone else!"

Part of me was relieved that the other man in my life was not a secret to him. The other part of me was furious at the assumption that he would suppose I was interested in him after such a long time apart. Did every woman he came across fall for him? Is that what he was expecting from me? Erik's words of jealousy were ringing in my head and reminding me of my low status when compared to Raoul's.

"If anyone was in my way that evening, my _friend_ , " I cut in coldly and was reminded more of Erik than myself in that reaction, "it was yourself since I told you to leave the room!"

"Yes, so that you might remain with the other!"

"What are you saying, monsieur? Am I not allowed to choose those I would prefer to find myself alone with? Perhaps it was your intention that evening to catch me alone!"

"As at matter of fact, it was!"

I stepped closer to him and whispered fiercely, "And what for?"

He read my contemptible features as I read his. The close proximity made him stiffen then soften. His blue eyes looked the same as they did the last day he left me in Perros, hopeful, honest, and forever curious. I heard his breath catch and he leaned his head slightly. Suddenly, I felt trapped. I wanted him to take me in his arms and do what I now knew was possible between a man and a woman. A fire began to burn below my stomach and I made the mistake of looking away from his eyes to his lips. As any man's might, his lips were thin, light pink, and present. The space between his top lip and nose had a cleanly cut mustache. I found myself wanting to know if it would tickle me if we were close. If we were somehow closer…

A realization came crashing down on me as if the very cellars of the opera had fallen and crushed me all at once. My eyes stung, my shoulders shook, and I whimpered in defeat as I pulled myself away so quickly from what could have been that I stumbled back over the hem of my night dress. A dress that was a gift from Erik. Shoes that were also gifts. Stockings, ribbon, a thin necklace, and a heavy ring in my pocket that was never far away were all gifts. I was not my own property any longer and I was no longer myself in any sense of the word.

"I will tell you everything," I said doing everything I could to hold back tears, "But not now."

I heard him call out my name as I fled to my room and locked the door behind me.

* * *

 **Entry 24**

That afternoon I decided to take a walk to clear my head. After some time, my feet lead me to the very cove where I had first met Raoul when we were children. As fate should have it, I found him sitting in the sand staring out to the sea. The wind was strong enough that he did not hear me approach until I was standing beside him. Startled, he stood quickly before me. His balance shifted awkwardly in the sand. I tried to smile in greeting but looked down instead. Did he know my thoughts from earlier that day? Did he judge me for them perhaps? Here I was believing the worst in him when it was me who had such damning thoughts and moved to act upon them whereas he did not. When I looked up again, he was smiling and I saw the Raoul I knew from long ago.

"When we were children your father let us run up and down this beach without shoes. I think I have aged too much. Here I stand with the most uncomfortable feeling of sand in my socks and for the sake of propriety, I'm not removing my shoes."

His carefree remark allowed me to relax and I smiled a little. "When I moved to Paris for good after father died, Mama made me wear proper attire. It is a fond memory of feeling the sand on my feet." A gust came from the water and I held my furs closer to me. "But it is too cold for that now."

"Will you walk with me?" he asked, "It will be warmer in town."

I nodded and with an appropriate space between us, we made our way back to the dirt road that led into town. The snow from earlier was light and it was easy to spot the brown grass from below it.

"Were you not cold sitting out by the ocean like that?" I asked casually.

"It is something I must grow used to. Did you know I am in the navy? I will be leaving for the North Pole soon. That's why I've been so forward with you. I don't want to leave you if there is a chance of you returning my affection."

My face hardened and I stopped walking, "There is none, my friend."

He stepped in front of me and took my forearms in his gloved hands, "But why? Why would you say that when you know I love you?"

"It is impossible."

He spoke desperately, "I promise you it is anything, but impossible! Don't you know I have loved you since that last summer we spent together? I did not know how to say it then. I was too young and foolish, but when I saw you at the Opera I knew that I had been given another chance. This is fate, don't you see?"

I painfully pushed him away and continued to walk forward so that he could not see my tears. How often had I dreamed he would come to me and say this? How often had I wished and prayed for this very moment? This was what I buried with my papa and Mama V. I had buried my very dreams and ran off with what I thought was a nightmare. My poor Erik was somewhere in this town hiding from everything I had been freed to do! He trusted me to face such words from Raoul and rise above them with the words that would destroy my childhood sweetheart. And yet there I stood unable to mutter the words of my lifetime commitment.

Raoul caught up to me and I suddenly found myself woven in his embrace. His arms closed around my waist and shoulders and my face turned to him as my hands flattened to wool cloak over his chest. How do I ever describe how good his body felt? He is not so much taller than me when I am wearing shoes whereas Erik towers over me at all times. Raoul's chest is fleshy and slightly hard with muscle and I could not feel any part of his ribs. His arms were warm and shared the same strength as his chest. My God forgive me! I wanted so badly to stay wrapped up in him forever!

He looked down to me and my breath caught. All of my dreams were coming true in the guise of a nightmare and I was transfixed. He leaned his head closer to me and I found myself wondering what his mustache would feel like over my top lip. I even began to wonder what more of him would feel like against my bare skin. I shuttered.

With passion in his eyes he spoke, "Do you believe me now, Christine? Do you believe my love for you? I was jealous of the man I heard in your room, don't you see that?"

"You shouldn't hold me like this," I faltered, but made no move against him, "This…this isn't decent."

"I swear to you my love is pure."

Tears filled my eyes. This couldn't continue. With all my strength I broke away from him and walked forward a few steps. "You don't understand, Raoul. I can never be with you."

"But why?" He stepped in front of me again.

Finally, with tears freezing on my face and the wind threatening to push me over, "I'm married, Raoul. I'm married to the man you heard in the dressing room."

Numbly, he took a step away from me and uttered, "Married?"

"Yes,"

"For how long?"

"Since Mama died. I had no one, Raoul. I had no money or future and the opera had just closed down for repairs after the fire. Marriage was the only respectable path open to me."

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked brokenly and I broke with him.

"It is a secret. No one knows. No one, but our priest. My husband keeps to himself and helped me find my voice after I was sure it would never return after Papa passed. He did not want to threaten my career as an artist by keeping me in the house and so we decided to keep our relationship a secret. I didn't know how to tell you and was unsure of how to proceed. That's why I did not respond to your letters."

"Does he know of my correspondence with you?"

"Most of it." I sighed.

"Not all?"

"He has not been kind to you in front of me," I admitted painfully.

"I would imagine so!" He spat angrily, "What dishonor you bring upon me! To allow me to go after another man's wife?"

His words hurt me, but I couldn't let myself leave him without knowing the truth. "If you had known would your feeling have changed?"

He calmed and whispered, "No."

"And if I had known of your intention to come back into my life in such a way, I would have waited," I said this over an incredibly painful lump in my throat. If Erik knew it would destroy him, but Raoul deserved to know the truth, "But what's done is done and I must say goodbye to you forever."

"Christine, no, please do not. Allow me in your life in some way."

How the kindness in his words hurt me! "I…I don't know if that is possible."

He walked closer to me and spoke quietly, "If you feel the same for me as I for you, we could run away."

I stepped back, "You don't understand! It would kill my husband if I left. He loves me more than life itself!"

"And how do you know that is not how I feel about you?"

"No, Raoul. I am certain you could have any woman you chose. My husband is very reclusive and has been treated very poorly by the world. I am so much to him. I cannot live with his death on my hands."

"What what about my death?"

I took his hand and shook it, "Don't you see? You are stronger than that! You have a life and a good one. Running off with me would destroy everything you have. Your family would never approve of me. My class is still lower than yours and I am working. What would I do with you? Stay at home all day as you did whatever you pleased?"

He quieted. I knew my points must have struck him down to the validity. For that much, I was thankful of the reality Erik had created for me from the situation. Raoul shook his head.

"I will not accept your rejection so easily. I can see you still harbor feelings for me-"

"I assure you, I do not!" I said desperately, "Raoul, please, do not make this harder for me than it already is. You must accept that I can never be with you!"

He stood before me for a very long time until finally he sighed and offered to walk me back into town. I accepted and we did not say another word for the entire walk.

* * *

 **Entry 25**

At a quarter of midnight that same day, I made my way from the Inn to the graveyard. The woman at the desk was about to head in for the evening and gave me the key with swift instruction not to lose it. I nodded and made my way into the night, however it did not seem like night as the moon was high and full over the fresh snow that was high enough to cover all remaining shoots of grass seen from the afternoon. It was rather fringed, but the wind was down making the low temperature bearable.

Once I reached the cemetery, the gate had been left open. As I knew Erik was waiting for me inside, this did not surprise me in the slightest and I made my way forward. This was a humble place where the tombstones were small and just above the ground. I could see clear shapes of where they would be, but not who was who. That was until I looked to where I knew my father to be and saw that the stone had been cleared of snow. As I made my way closer, I could make out no footprints of anyone having been there. My husband is a curious creative to have been able to do this with all the snow.

As I knew this to be the last time that I would have with my father before leaving the next day, I knelt in the snow and made a soft prayer for his guidance just as the clock had struck midnight. As the chimes of the bell came to twelve, I heard the sound of The Resurrection of Lazarus being played on the violin. The old tune had been one of Papa's standards and he would play it late into the evenings as Raoul and I would listen, transfixed. And so, I knelt in that state, faced the moon and closed my eyes as the sound of flawless divine music flow over me.

When Erik had finished I heard him speak in my ear as if he were directly beside me, "How very gothic of us, my dear." He then laughed and gave away his position closer to the shadows of the church. "Wait for me at the Inn." He again whispered into my ear. This was said in such a way that I shivered and it was not from the cold.

After I had returned the key to the reception desk I went up to my room. Raoul was staying close by and I thought of him painful as I made my way down the hall. Erik was not waiting for me when I returned and so, I went about my general routine of preparing for bed. It was after I had hung up my dress and was brushing my hair in the light of the moon that I saw a shadow in the corner blink with brilliant golden eyes. Such an image would have scared me only a month prior. Now, I keep such superstitions with the lost stories of my dead papa.

"You played as flawlessly as ever," I commented quietly as I continued to brush my locks.

"The moonlight suits your complexion nicely." he purred as he pulled the curtains closed.

"Your actions say otherwise," I said annoyed as I laid my brush down on the vanity. All I could see without the light were his floating eyes as they settled above my head. I felt his presence behind me and the slide of the brush from the vanity as he slowly picked it up. His fascination with my hair is one that I quite like. To have someone run their fingers through my hair from base to tip is a most calming sensation. As he did this, he hummed a tune I did not recognize. In no time, my head and eyes became heavy and I rested lightly on his boney frame behind me. I thought I heard him laugh, but I couldn't find myself to care.

Placing his long thin hands over my forearms, he turned me so that my legs were to the side of the bench. He sat behind me with a long leg on either side of me. The intimacy of the position was as shocking as it was innocent and my back straightened against him in uncertainty. He moved the hair from one side of my neck, folded his arms around me, and pressed his head into my exposed neck. He continued to hum and held me like that until I finally relaxed into him and even closed my eyes. In time, one of his hands moved down from my arm, glazed my hips and straightened out at my knee. My nightdress was slowly being pulled up and I kept still.

The air met my thighs and when I pressed my legs together to shiver, I felt a hand between then. He pulled me a little closer to him and my legs parted naturally against the bench. As his hand made its way to my womanhood, I whispered, "Here?"

"I assure you we are the only ones awake." He chanted and my eyelids became heavy, "Relax, my darling girl."

I…must admit how promiscuous I feel writing about such things…but how else am I to understand them? There is no one I can talk to about these matters and they are the secrets of a wife alone. If there were anyone I could ever talk to it would be Mama. She always knew what to say when I asked her about my growth as a woman. I wonder if she would have more answers now if she were alive. What would she say…

His hand remained over me and his fingers began to move in sequence just above my most private entrance. My breath caught and shivered. How can I explain what I was feeling? I had only felt something like this once before with him, but this time it was even more. My chest rose and fell in full gasps and my body unconsciously pressed against him. He held tight to me, placing his other hand over my cheek and bringing our heads together to hold me even closer. My own hands seemed to make decisions of their own as one clutched the side of the vanity while the other quite brazenly held fast to the fabric of his pants just above his knee.

Just as I began to hear my jagged breaths turn into what I'm ashamed to admit were moans, he abruptly pulled away and forced me to look him in the eyes with his hands on either side of my face. "Do you want me, Christine?"

What could he possibly mean? I was feeling such things that were bound to erupt at any moment, but as the feel of him tore away, I felt it going away and I was near rage to do whatever I could to gain it back.

"Do you want me?" He repeated seriously. His hand moved to my right breast with his thumb falling over its tip. I gasped. "Do you want this?"

I looked to him, rather furious that he would suddenly stop and pouted, "Why did you stop?"

"You must say it. _Say it._ "

Realizing he would not continue without my admittance to his touch I looked him squarely in his golden eyes and said quite clearly, "I want you. Don't stop."

Without any further time to spare, he scooped me up into his arms and carried me to the bed, our eyes never left each other. He set me down on the edge and pulled my nightdress above my head slowly. As the cool air surrounded my nakedness, his hands slid from my chest, slowly past my breasts, and finally to my hips. I watched as his eyes fell to my womanhood. His cold lips and hot breath were then upon me and I soon fell back to the bed, my back arched in a position I cannot be proud of…but _that_ feeling. How will I ever describe just what I felt when he touched me? I was alive and flying somewhere so fast. When he finally slipped himself inside of me it was such a relief that I wanted to laugh. The feeling grew and consumed every bit of me until suddenly it was released and a rather loud sigh left me as I felt my entire body shudder. A few more thrusts from him and he too had finished.

Even as I felt wetness below me and could smell something like sweat and musk in the air, I found I could not move. My level of relaxation was heavenly and rather than move away, Erik leaned over me and brushed the hair from my damp forehead. "You have never looked so beautiful than this night, my dear. Never." He kissed my forehead and I welcomed the feel of his cold skin for a moment.

This night turned out to be coupled with horror, for early the next morning, I found my old friend near frozen to death in the parlor. He later told me he had followed me out that night and fainted in the church. When I asked why he would faint, he looked at me coldly and whispered, "I hope you never know."

* * *

 **A/N: I really enjoyed writing this chapter as I tried to stay as Leroux based as possible but from Christine's point of view rather than Raoul's. In addition to that, I wanted to be as honest to the characters in the book while incorporating all of the changes that happened prior to Raoul showing up.**

 **Thank you so much for your warm welcome back into writing. I would love to continue hearing your thoughts and I'm always excited to see new follows and favorites. I started to slip in updating within an appropriate amount of time, but your reviews got me back in. Thanks :)**


	9. Entries 26-28

**Entries 26-28**

 **Entry 26**

I am under the belief that my husband is borderline insane with jealousy. My desire of to quell Raoul's advances have backfired and now I see him almost every day during rehearsals. The more he is around, the more I catch the sight of glowing gold eyes from almost every dark corner imaginable. I want to believe that this is some trick of Erik's to make me believe he has eyes everywhere when he surely does not…but if I were to say that its effect was not working I would surely be lying. We have moved into dress rehearsals for Faust and it is harder to move in the skimpy slippers I am required to wear. Before, I could move about the halls and quickly proceed to my dressing room without being caught by Raoul. Now, I am caught at every break.

Dear Raoul! Your advances are only making things worse! Don't you see this? Don't you understand that? Raoul comes to me with words of devotion, quiet words of desperation and love. He whispers into my ear that all I need to do is say the word and he will take me anywhere. Once he smiled and said that he wishes to go to Sweden and I nearly began to cry. He must have seen my falter, for he let a wink of a smile cross his features. Just behind him in the distance of the hall, I was sure I saw Erik's ever watchful eyes. I gasped in fear, told Raoul to get away from me rather forcefully and fled to my dressing room. I had expected Erik to be waiting there to reproach my smallest of dreams, but he was not.

To make matters worse, all of Carlotta's followers have turned against me. She has made it quite clear that she is not fearful of the Opera Ghost and will not abide by his wishes to catch a cough on the opening day of Faust. As I am the understudy for hr role, she has spread the theory that I am in relations with the Opera Ghost and should be held accountable for his threats. She has a way of saying these things so brashly and in just the right location for her words to be shot around the house of the theatre as if she were performing a dramatic play. All the while, all I can do is stand at my place in the chorus, hands clenched into fists with head down to hide my shame. What am I to say to her? There is no reasoning with a diva. Once Raoul heard of these accusations he wrote to the managers of my poor treatment. I wish he had not. He had no idea what his actions would do.

I understand that I cannot force Erik away from my career or personal life, but I can, at least, try and push Raoul away. As if my day-to-day existence in rehearsals were not unbearable enough, Erik hasn't been any sort of comfort to return home to. Every day he presses me with questions. All of them are about Raoul. What's worse, is they are questions that are steeped in falsehoods that he has created for himself. It's been awful and exhausting.

"That boy is filled with empty promises, Christine."

"He promises nothing, Erik," I replied.

Hardly an hour later after a long silence, he spoke again, "You must like looking at that boy's face. I _know_ you do. He is rather pretty for a man. How fitting. He is a child who has been gifted money."

I gulped and tried to continue my cross-stitching, "You assume too far, husband."

Before I went to bed he sneered, "He meets you at your dressing room because he wants to be alone with you. All men want the same thing when they're alone with a woman."

"Erik, enough!" I cried as my body shook, "As if it were not hard enough being rumored for treachery at the opera now I must come home to your dishonorable accusations. I have done nothing to deserve this!"

"You must be thinking of these things." he said through his teeth, "How could you not? I see the way you look at him when you think you're alone."

My words were hollow, "I am never alone. You've seen to that."

"Your thoughts speak for you."

I finally snapped, "I had no perverse thoughts until you put them into my head. Your distrust me in is from your own insecurity, not mine!"

Once the words were released, I clapped my hand over my mouth. How had I been so forward? I wondered if he would strike me. I wondered if he would yell. I even wondered if he would bed me…this caused a flash of heat across my neck…My god, where would that thought ever come from? What's happened to me?

After a very long silence, I mumbled something about going to bed. He still said nothing. That night, my confused tired brain began to wander around my small bedroom. My thoughts drifted to my womanhood. How strange it is. How could something that I once only attributed to pain and embarrassment also be the base of such feelings I find myself unable to properly describe? One of my hands slowly traveled to the spot that only Erik had ever touched. What had he done that night at the inn? Was that something all men were capable of? Was that something _I_ was capable of?

My hand retreated as if suddenly burned. No. No, that was not something I wanted to know. As much I had - dare I say - _enjoyed_ our last private encounter, I do not fully understand if that is acceptable. Erik is not a religious man. I know him to have done things that are not respectable. I know I am to submit to my husband, but am I to do such things that may be a sin? I cannot begin to express the depths of my confusion. Do all couples engage in such acts? Does Erik know something that they don't? Has he…done this sort of thing before?

I blush at the thought.

I would die if I ever had to say such things aloud! I shouldn't even be writing them! Oh, the shame I would have if someone were to ever discover this book!

I can't even think about that.

* * *

 **Entry 27**

Today is the opening of Faust and Carlotta is more a tyrant now than every before. I feel like an outcast in the only place I felt I ever connected with in this city. The only person who even talks to me in passing is my dresser and even she seems to be hiding her true feelings about me. The one person who genuinely seems to be wanting to connect with me is Raoul and I'm not allowed to talk to him. I finally had to send him a note telling him to never speak to me again. I said that if he loved me even a little, that he'll do this. I told him quite frankly that both our lives depending on him leaving me alone and that I would never forget him.

It was all I could do to not smear the ink with my tears! Even now I am focusing on my breath to steady my hand. It's hard to describe just how lonely I've been recently. For over half of my life I've either been with my father or had some kind of family surrounding me. There has never been a time I've truly felt alone until now. Even my husband is someone I find myself estranged from now. I cannot stand his mean words and it seems that we no longer can share a conversation without him bringing Raoul into it. What's worse is that I cannot seem to get away from the opera as Erik has been very strict on me staying under his domain.

Only two days ago, le Comte de Changy wrote me a letter requesting my presence. He told me that Raoul had been inconsolable since his return from Perros and that he wanted to speak with me concerning my behavior towards his brother. I found out about this letter through Erik who waved it in front of my face like a flag. I wanted to stand up to him, to tell him that he should not be so forward with my personal correspondence. I wanted to tell him that if he would only let me handle the letter on my own that I would calmly tell le Comte that I did not want to be held responsible for Raoul's feelings. I have been as forward with him as I ever could be and his feelings were his own…Sure, I could write that, but if I am being honest with myself, I know that not to be true.

Erik had me respond to le Comte de Changy, but with his words. I wrote as he spoke over my shoulder, "Your brother's feelings are one sided and I wish to be left alone. I will not discuss this matter with you or anyone else. - Mademoiselle Daae"

After the paper had dried, Erik snatched it from me and left the house with a bang. It was hardly past supper time and with an empty stomach, I cried myself to sleep.

My final tipping point was yesterday. I have slept more than anything this week and yet I always seem to be tired. Every morning, Erik and I review the entire part of Margarita in Faust. After this, I am sent to rehearsal where I watch Carlotta perform the part. Ever time she has a chance to see me, and it doesn't matter if it's on stage or off, she narrows her eyes in threat. I wonder, what is the point of all of this work? She is clearly very confident in her role. Why does Erik even try? It's only making everything worse for me. I feel it very unfair that everyone around me wants to make even the smallest of matters so difficult for me.

During the last intermission break, I was walking back to my dressing room and was doing everything in my power to push the lump in my throat down. If I were to start crying, my voice would become weak for the final act. I didn't need anyone around me noticing any further weakness than I already exposed. Raoul stopped me at the door of my dressing room.

"Do you love him?"

"What?" I asked exasperatedly.

"Your husband. Do you love him?"

"Please do not ask such a thing."

I tried to push past him, but he did not move.

"If you do not love him could you possibly love me, Christine?" he pleaded.

"Do not ask me this!" I cried as all of my pent up tears shot from my eyes. I heaved past him, locked the door and collapsed in my dressing room. I stayed on the floor until an assistant manager tapped on my door calling for places. I had no time to repair my makeup as I was scrambling to change into another costume. By the time I reached the stage, I was out of breath, my eyes were swollen, my makeup was all disheveled, and it felt like everyone was staring at me. I wanted to run away from everything. It was impossible to sing for the final act and my voice tapered and was flat until I finally resulted in mouthing the words rather than sing. I couldn't escape the awful glances from those around me.

The last thing I did before leaving my dressing room that evening was written Raoul the note. I handed it to my dresser and asked she deliver the message personally. She was not thrilled at the extra task, but I gave her all the coins in my purse to do it. It's not like I would be able to do anything with the money anyway. I was not allowed to leave.

Places have been called. I must go. It's opening night and I am not Margarita. I am not anyone anymore. My voice is broken and so am I. If I could have given my solos to someone else I would have, but Erik would surely not allow that. He told me to be ready this evening for something big. He was strangely excited about it. Almost to the point of madness. I want to be afraid, but I am too weak to feel anything besides sadness now.

* * *

 **Entry 28**

I am a prisoner. And I'm afraid it's all my fault. A state of chaos has erupted from the Opera Garnier. For that, I cannot be held accountable for…or perhaps I can. Is it truly my fault that Erik's love reaches out to embrace lunacy? Perhaps if I had not agreed to marry him things would be different. Perhaps if I had stowed away in some poor boarding house while the repairs were being done rather than jump at the first man to offer me a bed to sleep in none of this would have happened. Erik once told me that there are some philosophers that believe in alternate universes. If I were to have held out longer if I hadn't been so weak, would things have turned out better?

People are dead. I am certain of it. How does one survive a falling chandelier? Erik denies my beliefs, but he has lied to me before. Why wouldn't he lie about this? He believes that if he can keep making up pretty tales from far off places that somehow everything will be alright between us, but it's not so simple. Why would he ever believe otherwise? How can I forgive him when he has blood on his hands? What's worse, he shows no remorse at all! If he were saddened or would repent, I might be able to forgive him, but he is anything but!

I…I should write the entire story. Maybe that would make me feel better. No. I don't believe anything could really make me feel better at this point. I'm trapped down here forever and I believe him when he says he'll never set me free. If there are any words I can believe from him now, it is that I will rot down here with him.

The opening night of Faust was horrific. I was tired, and hungry but couldn't eat, no one would talk to me, and oh, oh those terrible glances I would receive from people. It is an unfair juxtaposition to be a performer. How easy it could be to dissolve into nothing sitting behind a desk as a clerk might, but no, as a woman, I am made to be seen and as a performer, there is never an escape if I want to earn any income. I suppose monetary needs are no longer present for me, but still…

As I stepped on the stage with the chorus, I was painfully aware of Raoul in his brother's box. Raoul looked awful. He was thin and pale and had the most terrible look of utter sadness over his once carefree features. I wondered why he would even be there as no one would hold it against him if he had claimed to be ill. As if the glares from the chorus were not bad enough, le Comte's eyes went from his brother's to mine in a sincere sort of distaste. How was this my fault that I could not return Raoul's advances? Even without being married, doesn't Comte de Changy understand that love is not enough for society to accept us? Did he simply expect that I would fall to his brother's advances as other women have done for him at the opera? I am sure I have done nothing to solicit Raoul's feelings and yet I am seen as the one to blame.

My solo in Margarita's garden was retched. I sounded no better if not worse than I did before Erik began to teach me. He must have been furious with me. He must have known what I was thinking and why I was so awful. Raoul was weeping in the box and le Comte looked stiff and merciless as he gave his brother a swift pat on the back. It was not a friendly or comforting gesture.

I was grateful to hear the applause as Carlotta made her way to the stage. Finally, everyone would be expected to see her and let me disappear into the chorus. While Margarita is understood to be good and modest, Carlotta stomped onto the stage as if she were a soprano version of Carmen. I looked away from the indignity she was cast upon a character I had always loved. The crowd, however, exploded into praise and I felt even more alone.

Faust was on a knee and they were singing to one another when all of a sudden Carlotta opened her mouth only to admit the sound of a toad! The sound shocked me into reality and I looked up. Was it my imagination? I looked up to Raoul and he too seemed to no longer be in his own thoughts. Whispers swam through the crowd. If it had been me, a new singer without Carlotta's reputation, I'm sure I would have been booed off the stage. But no, this was Carlotta. She is known far and wide for her good talent. She would be given the chance to recover if she took it.

One of the managers could easily be seen leaning over his box with a program held tightly in his hand. He waved it at her and whispered, "Well, go on!" at a volume easily heard by all. Carlotta steadied herself and took a shaking uneasy breath. Four words in and _CROAK_. Four words more, _CROAK._ Four and a half and her final _CROAK_. The audience was in an uproar as people had begun to stand and throw down their programs. And then…laughter.

It seemed to be coming from the manager's box, but when looking up to them, their mouths were wide in shock and they looked around as if trying to catch the sound. The laughter grew and grew until it was so loud the entire theatre was drowned out by it. It was awful and unsettling and I knew - _I knew_ \- it was Erik. The only thing to break his terrible laughter were his own powerful words that shook the stage.

"SHE IS SINGING TONIGHT TO BRING THE CHANDELIER DOWN!"

Everyone raised their eyes to see what horror awaited them in the painted sky of the arched ceiling. The large hanging structure swayed back and forth and the lights were flickering around the stage with each sway. The chain holding the mass gave a jolt. The breath of everyone stopped. The world froze and one moment seemed to last an hour, but even that long breathless hour was too short and the once glorified talking piece that hung beautifully over the house was smashed to pieces.

Terror took hold and everyone was running. I too was running, but I did not know where. Where could I go? I couldn't possibly meet Erik in my dressing room. I was too afraid of him! Such anger and violence! What if he were still in such a state when I saw him? I would be trapped and he could hurt me! I had to run and run I did. So many people were pushing past each other. I saw as some of the older chorus members were shoved into walls. I saw as one woman with a bad knee tipped and was stepped on. I began to slip into hysterics as I ran with the masses towards the doors.

For a fleeting moment, I thought that was my chance. I seriously thought I could run away with everyone else and run away from everything I had trapped myself in. I could see the stage door down the hall. It called to me. It had flown open and I could feel the cold night air. I wanted to run and run to the see, do whatever I had to in order to receive passage on a boat, and go straight to Sweden. I was ready. I was desperate. And somewhere in my poor mind, I was sure anything was possible.

But then the door closed. There was a collision of people as the flow had been disrupted. I felt crushed as those behind me shoved me into those before me. The wind was knocked out of me. More terrified shrieks erupted around us. Someone was saying the door had been locked. Panic rose as people were trying to move from the front through the rest of the people to the back. People were running backward and I was caught in a whirlpool of bodies until I was pushed back out onto the stage just behind a backdrop. I could hear the cries of agony from the house.

I didn't know what to do. It was clear that no one knew what to do. People were still running all around me. I was being pushed every time I tried to move. My poor mind couldn't think and I slowly made my way to the opposite side of the stage. Sometime during my cross, I began to sob. My makeup streaked down my face and I blindly used my sleeve to wipe it away. What different did it make if I turned the light fabric to the lost colors of my face? What was left for me at the opera?

The feeling of being trapped was overwhelming. Where was I to go? Was any place safe for me anymore? I wanted to empty my stomach even as I had not eaten all day. I stumbled over my feet and finally led up against the brick wall of the backstage area. I couldn't think clearly. Where was the nearest door? Where were all of these people running to if the doors were shut? Were we all damned in here together? I wandered back from where I came until gravity fell on me as the floor was slipped open from beneath me.

I fell for at least the length of my body if not farther and was caught roughly at the hips. I believe I screamed when I feel. My eyes turned to see the square hole above me close on itself. Surely, I had fallen through a trap door. Turning my tear-fogged vision around in the dimly lit underground, I was met by my masked husband. He righted me on the floor and kept his hands squarely on my hips. I was dazed from the chaos and shock, but his voice woke me.

"Are you hurt?"

Realization struck. My husband was a murderer and this murderer was holding me. I tensed and tried to step away, but he refused to let me go.

"Christine," he reprimanded.

"Unhand me!" I barked as I tried to shove his hands away from me. He looked hurt, as he moved his head to one side, but he was not the one who deserved to feel such a way. He murdered people! I spoke again, "You will let me go!"

He clutched my shoulders and brought me closer to him.

"You are in shock. That is understandable, but we must move from here."

He tried to take my hand and lead me on, but I rebuffed.

"I will not move! Those people…can't you hear them? You hurt them!"

"Do not speak of things you do not understand. Come along."

He tugged again and I went with him a step before regaining my footing. I worked to pry his firm grasp from me.

"Do not test me, Christine. Come." He said quietly and I saw him reach into his coat with his other hand. I froze. What was he reaching for? What was he going to do to me? The next time he spoke, his voice was kind and wistful, "Come, my girl."

I stood still with limp arms. What did he have in his coat? In a flash of black, he was behind me, holding my arms to my sides, as he pulled a folded white cloth to my face. I tensed and began to struggle, but he held on and whispered, "You'll be fine, my love. You need to unwind yourself." The cloth was pushed onto my face over my nose and mouth. I tried to scream as he held my face still. "We're going home, love. You'll feel better once we're home."

The effect of the bitter smelling dampness of the cloth began to have its effect. My body lost its tense and my vision turned to clouds. He dragged me along, this time he walked directly by my side and I could feel his arm around my shoulders holding me up. My feet moved, but I couldn't feel them. Then I couldn't feel much of anything, but I knew I was moving. Somewhere deep below the stage, I finally passed out.

That's not the worst of it. The worst of it is that once I was awake and thinking again, I tried to run away. I tried and I failed. He is expecting me for breakfast soon. I hope to write again soon. I fear for _my_ sanity.

* * *

 **A/N: As always, thank you for your favorites, follows, and reviews from the last chapter. I have the rest of this story planned out, but it's your encouragement that keeps me writing. Thank you! Your feedback is the only payment I receive for my written imagination haha**


	10. Entries 29-30

**Entires 29-30**

 **Entry 29**

I am uncertain as to how long it was before I came to. When I woke after the chaos at the opera, my throat was parched and my hands were blindly searching for water before I was able to open my heavy eyes. A glass was handed to me and I felt the cool smooth texture of leather gloves. My eyes finally opened to see my husband staring down at me. Remembering all that had happened, hearing his voice ring in my head, and watched the chandelier fall in my mind's eye, I gasped and tried to move away from him.

"Calm yourself," he spoke quietly and without heavy emotion, "Tonight was far more dramatic then it should have been. Here," he pulled my torso up onto a sea of pillows and put the glass to my lips, "Drink."

Temporarily forgetting all I knew, I clutched at the glass greedily and swallowed the cool water as quickly as I could, not caring that some spilled out of my lips and down my neck.

"Be mindful, darling," Erik said wiping the excess water away from my neck and face with a smooth cloth. It had the same texture as the cloths he used following our most intimate moments. I couldn't suppress my shiver. As my eyes focused, I looked down to find that my costume had been removed. Realizing that there was cool air crossing my bare shoulders, I slumped down under the sheets.

"Why did you undress me?!" I demanded hoarsely.

"Wait a moment for the water to make it into your system. You don't want to hurt your voice." I stared at him with narrow eyes and he finally answered my question with a shrug, "It was dirty and the material was thin. I threw it out."

"You threw it…?" I couldn't continue my words at the thought of running away with a costume! As if I weren't already in an awful situation with everyone at the opera. Now I mysteriously lost my costume! "They'll need it back," I mumbled.

"They won't." he clicked his tongue and shifted his balance, "You will not be returning to that role and the woman beneath you is too tall. They will not miss it. There are other things they need to be concerning themselves with now."

My eyes fell at the thought of what he was referring to. All of those people running on top of each other. Doors shutting for no reason. Chaos. Pandemonium. It was awful, like a nightmare that you feel through your dream. The build up of all of it began to show on me and my eyes teared up.

"Do not be saddened, love." Erik said quietly, "The managers had their chance to do what I had asked them to. This opera would not be in its financial status if not for my guidance. They should have known what an asset I am. I would like to think that my point was _crystal_ clear this time." He ended with a laugh.

"That is not funny," I reprimanded and he stopped, "People were hurt tonight. I saw people trampled. It was dangerous. Surely some injuries have lead people to the infirmary…or worse…"

He moved his hand over where mine was under the quilt and squeezed it lightly, "You needn't worry over such trivial things. These are my matters to contend with."

If he was not going to care for others, I tried to appeal to what I knew he cared about, " _I_ could have been hurt!"

"That is nonsensical," he said quickly taking his hand away from mine. He twiddled his thumbs in his lap, "You see, I was watching you. I knew which way you would run and I stopped you before you could go too far. You were not handling things well. I had to take you home."

Further realization struck. "You shut the door."

"There were other doors. You found the only door that mattered to me."

I crossed my arms under the quilt and looked away from him, "What you have done is unforgivable, Erik. I will not allow you to joke about people's lives as if they didn't matter."

"Only you matter." His words were so serious and deep that I turned to look back at him. He moved closer to me on the bed and easily stretched his arm out to the other side of me. I tried to make myself smaller so he wouldn't touch me. "Do you not think I realized what you were trying to do? You could have easily made it to your dressing room, but you did not. You were trying to run from me and everything we have worked on. I could not let you do that, Christine." He slid so close this his mask was hardly a fingers length away from me, "We are bound, Christine. By mind, body, and soul we are bound for eternity and you will never run from that which connects us. I am not a coward like your young man. I will get what I want or there will be consequences for _everyone_. Is that understood?"

"Yes," I whispered.

"Good," he said quickly as he leaned in to kiss my cheek through his mask. Afterward, he left me alone to bathe saying that he would prepare an earlier breakfast for us.

Once the water was drawn and I was sitting in the tub, I sat still in horror at just what his words meant. My husband was so clearly a killer and with no remorse. How was I to live with him any longer? It was then that I began to hatch a plan of escape. I decided it would be better to be kind to him and give into is wants up until I regained his trust. Then, I would ask to go to the market or something, but not plan to return. I thought I could still run…

I am not as strong of an actress when it comes to reality and he must have known it. That day, I did whatever he wanted to do. Rather than have a music lesson, he let me rest my voice as he played the piano. He did not play songs of love, rather, he played songs of turmoil and rage. I tried to let this pass. During lunch, he revealed to me some of his past occupations building mazes within palaces in the Persian Empire. He would dive into the complexities of his creations and continuously look to me for reactions. I tried to stay immune to the knots that grew in my stomach.

The afternoon was uneventful. He chose to read a large book written in Russian in the Drawing Room after I had situated myself there with a smaller book of my own. I wasn't reading it. How could I focus on anything else? But I wanted to at least appear content with my surroundings to not cause suspicion. I am uncertain how much he was reading for I often looked up to find his gaze unapologetically stuck to me. In time I took up my cross stitching and had to wear a thimble after I managed to stab my pointer finger more than once. I'm sure he noticed, but he said nothing. Once I saw him turn a page.

He left me alone for supper, but I did not make anything for myself. I ate a large purple carrot raw and with my hands. It was something. When I did not see him for a little time after, I made my way to my room hoping to escape my thoughts with sleep. Of all times to come to my room, he came in that night. I knew it was late for my candle had blown out long before and it was cold. It was much later then he had come in the past. I woke to the feel of his cold thin fingers running down my cheek and neck. The only thing I could see was his eyes across from mine. He had appeared to have laid down across from me. I stared at him for a while as my groggy state went from confusion to realization, to fear.

Was I to be bedded by a murder? Even worse was the possibility that this was not his first time taking lives and I had willingly married him. Is it customary to ask a man of all his wrongdoings prior to engagement? Or is that inconsiderate and distrustful? Nonetheless, I wondered that as he lay across from me. How was I do follow through with wifely duties now? Does God exempt a woman if her husband has broken a very serious commandment? Oh, what would my poor papa say if he only knew? His Christine, his Little Lotte is married to a murder!

"Christine," Erik purred and despite my better judgment, my mind flipped to our last meeting of intimacy. However, such thoughts did not last long enough as I soon found myself unable to look in his eyes any longer. "Is something the matter?"

Of course, something was the matter! How could he think anything otherwise! The idea that he would not be overridden with guilt so soon after the incident made my fists ball with rage.

"Christine?"

What was I to say? If I told him I perceived him as a murderer and nothing would ever be the same between us again, he would never let me go. I had to go. I needed to leave and I needed him to trust me. My thoughts ran and ran. It was the same as seeing the open escape door and ready to run all the way to Sweden, but this time everything was caught in my head. Such things were still possible, I told my mind, I simply had to play this game.

My anger gave way to terror and sadness. There was nothing I could do in that moment. The normal thing to do would be to follow through with his wants. How long could it take? I was tired already. Maybe he would see that and be quick…but as I remembered how things had been progressing between us and how I had even enjoyed the experience, I knew our early days of me baring his love numbly were over. I recoiled at the thought. How could I possibly enjoy his presence any longer? How could that even be possible knowing what he did?

"Christine?" he asked again, this time I heard the concern in his whispered tone. He cupped my face in his hands and the cold air mixed with his poor circulation made me shiver. I was made to look into his eyes and my dam of composure broke. Before him, I began to cry quite horribly.

All I could hear were my shattered breaths, "I do not feel well!" I spattered out.

My body shook with compulsions and I moved to place my hands over my eyes to hide from him. The feeling of vulnerability was overwhelming. I felt him readjust on the bed and before long he was pulling me up under my arms into a sitting position against him on the headboard. Not knowing much else to do, I curled up. He circled me with his arms and rested his head atop mine. I do not remember his words, but they were soft and kind. The juxtaposition of the event was that his kindness was only tearing my feelings further and I was without comfort for some time.

Once I had worn myself out and my breathing had slowed, he spoke softly and seriously, "Were you afraid I would force you?"

I took another moment to steady my breath before I spoke, "Yes,"

He pulled me a little closer as his voiced quieted, "You are still learning to trust me, but here is still time for us."

Was he so ignorant?! I can no longer trust him with anything!

"I wish for you to depend on me, Christine. My every action is for you."

How his words twisted in my chest! It was not the feel of his fingers running through my hair, nor the sound of his soft voice that lulled me to sleep. It was my wish to escape that led me to hold my breath until I passed out. I am sure nothing else would have worked and I scare myself at the thought of never being able to escape this nightmare again!

He now calls me for a singing lesson. He sounds short tempered. I wish I could pass out again without him working to revive me. What sweet bliss that would be!

* * *

 **Entry 30**

Over breakfast the next morning, I attempted to ask him how things were going above. He shrugged and attempted to change the subject within the same beat. I had to fight to get a word in.

"Erik, I need to know what's going on up there." I said as calmly as I could, "I need to know if anyone was hurt."

"Your young man is without injury. Is there anyone else you care to know about?"

I wanted to bark that I had no "young man," but I swallowed my pride. Instead, I took advantage of his offering me a new answer, "Was anyone in the chorus hurt? I saw some people fall over and stepped on when trying to get to an exit."

"You want to know about the chorus? Even after they spoke obscenities about you and chastised you for your rise in talent? What does it matter if there is one more person to spread unsolicited cruelties?"

His words stung. Ever since I came to the Opera, I enjoyed the communion and comradery I shared with the chorus. They were not family and I did not know many of them well, but at least they were people to see and talk to. I had no one else. Were they so unjustified to be angry at me? I rose up faster than those who far outranked me in years and formal training. Of course, their words hurt. Of course, it was awful to feel so alone, but the thought that one of them could be hurt somewhere still bothered me. I didn't want anyone to get hurt because of me.

"I never wanted anyone to be hurt," I said quietly.

"Humanity's selfishness during a tragedy is not on you."

My anger and shock stiffened. Just the night before he told me that everything he did was for me and what he had done had steep consequences he was outright choosing not to identify. If he had pushed Carlotta to leave her role, she would not have spread the rumors about me. I could have continued as a featured soloist until my time came to properly earn a leading role. I would have been fine to have been patient, but Erik is so clearly not. He did all that he did to show his power both to the opera, the people of Paris and to me. Getting into an altercation with him for the sake of my guilt and morals would be useless to my escape. I felt there was nothing more I could do for him. There was only what was left for me to do with myself.

I took a large sip of my water, swallowed what remained of my feelings, and numbly replied, "I would like to change the subject."

He nodded and lead me to the piano for my lesson.

I waited until late in the evening to try and escape. I was sure that if he thought me asleep that he would be off his guard. At supper, I told him I was tired and he did not press me to stay up. I waited in bed with my candle out and eyes open for some time. My mind raced to what I would need to do to escape. I reviewed the passages in my head of where to turn and what traps to avoid. Before retiring, I checked that the key to the gate was still securely in my handbag. He had not taken it. He must have known where I kept it and yet he had never touched it. It was a mock freedom. He did not want me to believe I was trapped with him even then.

After some time, I slipped out of bed and placed a loose travel jacket over my nightdress. I could not risk taking the time to fully dress. I planned to purchase a second-hand set of work clothes from a mill town just outside of the city. I did not want to be seen or recognized in the finery Erik had given me. I wanted to slip away into the masses. I counted the francs in my purse before placing it in my a leather satchel gifted to me by Mama. While it is not a fashionable item, it's the sturdiest travel piece I owned and held out the weather. I calculated it would be enough to receive poor passage on a shipping vessel. Once I arrived in Sweden, I would need to take job It was a frightening idea considering my lack of skills, but I had lived poorer in my life. I planned to do whatever I needed to do in order to leave my husband.

I listened by the door for a long while and did not hear anything. Perhaps Erik was in his bedroom? Nonetheless, I would have to be stealthy. His hearing is quite advanced if not inhuman. I wondered if he could hear my heart pound as I walked down the hall to the apartment door. The knob turned easily and there was no creak of the hinges as it opened. I took a moment to look back at the dark apartment. I merely held a candle for light and it was hard to make out any detail. My stomach churned and I shut the door behind me.

The cellars were so terribly dark. Erik always had a lantern with him and usually left one in a hidden place near the door, but it was not there. Perhaps he was out for the evening? The thought of him finding me in the cellar halls was frightening, but I knew I had only this one chance to escape. My candle light would have to do. I reviewed the directions Erik had me memorize when I first became his wife and he set me free to come and go as I liked. Everything was going to plan until I came to a dead end at the end of a corridor. It was as if the entire hall had been built just to confuse. There was even a stone wall blocking my path. Had I truly forgotten the path I had reviewed so many times? It didn't seem possible.

Nonetheless, I turned around and looked back down the stone corridor. As I reached the end, I knew I had come from the right, but there appeared to be no place to turn right. Instead, there was an opening to go left. I took a shaky breath and hugged my jacket closer to me. What was going on? Was I lost already? I decided that if there was only one way to go back that I must take it and I would eventually find my footing somewhere, but I walked and walked and kept turning left each time. I felt I was walking in a large rectangle and I no longer recognized any of the halls I found myself in. My pace quickened and I picked up my skirts to try and move fast to gain any sort of familiarity. Eventually, I tripped, fell to the hard uneven floor with a crash and my candle went out.

I cannot properly describe the terror that gripped me. I was absolutely blind in that perfect pitch darkness. I crawled around on my hands and knees searching for my candle, but all I found were sharp pebbles and damp stones. After a fruitless search, I pulled out my pack of matches. I had three remaining. I shakily stood and struck my first match. The corridor looked eternally long and I could see nothing recognizable. I moved as quickly forward as I tried to look for the candle, but it was as if it had dissolved into thin air. After burning my fingers, the match went out and I was plunged back into the black.

All I could hear was my shaky breathing and the sound of my feet sliding over the stones. My feet were beginning to ache in exhaustion and my palms burned from having scraped the rocks. I reached into my leather handbag that hung across my chest and shoulder to find another match. This time, only one match remained. Had I managed to drop my second one? What was I to do with only one match? I decided to save it. I would need it once I reached the gate in order to place the key in the correct lock. The length of my arms stretched out was just wide enough for me to feel both sides with fingertips. I moved slowly and loudly along the stones praying to find an opening that would be familiar.

Time passed and I began to cry. I was so terribly lost and I began to wonder if I would die down there. It was so cold, too. My fingers grew numb. My breath shook. All too suddenly, a blueish glow could be seen from the end of the corridor. I made my way to it. It looked as the underground lake was under a full moon. It's a strange occurrence that Erik constructed where the light from above can be reflected through a series of hidden mirrors that lead to parts of the lake, but only when the moon was its largest. I hoped that in finding the lake I would be able to retrace my footing and start again. I believe I even laughed at the sight. My eyes were so caught up in what was before me, I didn't even see the hole below me.

I was falling! I was falling for too long and I could see the lake coming closer and closer to me! My shriek filled the catacombs making my voice even louder as it reverberated over and over from wall to wall and finally back into my ears. I hit the water hard and the feeling of freezing stunned me. I could see my leather bag bobbing on the water's surface as I sank. My limbs did not appear to want to work for me. I was dead weight and my heavy coat meant for warmth against the winter elements held me down. My breath was short as I had not thought to spare it before I plunged in. My mind reeled between panic and peace. If I were to die what would it really matter anyway? I was the reason for so many problems all around me. I continued to watch the surface climb farther away from me. My eyes began to shut and I was accepting my fate.

The water shifted near me and I heard an unbalance, but I did not open my eyes. I was too far gone. Rough hands seized me under my arms and I was being dragged to the surface, dragged back to the world I was sure was better without me. My eyes opened and saw a thin black figure swimming hard to pull me up. My head painfully hit the water's edge and I greedily took in air. Coughing and gagging, I was pulled to the shore. Shaking and cold as death, I trembled on all fours and heaved up water from my lungs. A moment later, my rescuer was out of the water. I looked up to none other than Erik as he stood before me. His clothing stuck to him and for the first time, I was able to see just how very thin he was from head to toe. He wore no mask and I looked away to cough again.

"Your dear dead father never taught you how to swim?" he said, annoyed.

Of course, Papa taught me how to swim. What Erik didn't understand was that I didn't care to make the effort. I collapsed on the ground in my exhaustion, but I was not there long before Erik threw my bag back over my shoulders and mercilessly picked me up in his arms.

"A frozen wife would be pretty forever, but Erik cannot bare to lose his wife's soul. That would be a travesty for Paris." He laughed and I shook uncontrollably. The cold was so painful I could hardly breathe. I didn't want to breathe anyway, but Erik would often change his pace to keep me from letting go to unconsciousness. It was startling and I did not pass out.

We reached the house within a short time and Erik already had a fire waiting for us in the Drawing Room. It was as if he knew I would come back in such a state. That thought alone made me want to rot. Keeping me in his arms, he walked past the fire and into my bedroom. He walked me straight to the bathroom set me down atop the commode and went out to my room to rummage through my drawers. I put my bag down but did not move to unbutton my jacket. He returned with a chemise, pointed at my dripping clothes and commanded in one word, "Remove that."

I looked down, knowing that once my jacket was off my white nightdress would not hide any part of me. Through painful shivers, I whispered, "I can-"

"OFF. NOW." he boomed and I tried to hold back a sob. Losing his patience, he placed the chemise over the sink and unbuttoned my jacket. When I moved my shaking hands to do it myself he shoved them away. He tore my heavy coat from my arms and threw it in the bathtub. I attempted to curl into a ball on top of the commode, but he stood me up to take the nightdress off over my head. After throwing the garment in the tub on top of the coat, he yanked my towel from its rack and wrapped it around me. I felt like a helpless child and began to cry from humiliation.

"Stop crying. You should be more grateful. I nearly lost you this night. I saved your life when you had no business out in my world at night without my knowledge. You know I can't live without you."

Feeling was slowly coming back into my skin and it burned every time he rubbed the towel up and down my bare arms.

"I wanted to walk and you weren't around," I said pitifully.

He leaned his unmarred face very close to mine and peer into my eyes. I continued to shake as I felt his grip on my arms. "Do not lie to me," he said all too clearly through a clenched jaw.

We said nothing more as he threw the towel back up and covered me in the dry chemise. Erik told me to go to the sofa while he pulled quits from a closet. I did so without a sound. The fire felt much better than his harsh moves with the towel. I curled up on the edge of the couch and tried to soak in as much warmth as I could. Erik returned quickly and told me to stand. He wrapped a quilt around me and pushed me back to the couch. He took another blanket it and lay it over me. He told me not to move as he went to change into dry clothes. I did not.

The fire was easy and welcoming to stare into. I felt the blood run back into my hands and feet. My exhaustion was overwhelming and I began to slip into much-needed sleep, but not before Erik joined me and shook me awake.

"You will tell me why you went out into my cellars, Christine. You will tell me now." He sat next to me and looked deep into my eyes. He had replaced his mask, "Was it to see your young man?"

I coughed before speaking, "I have no young man."

"He would believe otherwise."

"I was not going to him!" I said quickly and began to cough again. Erik waited.

"Then where were you off to? You were very foolish to do such a thing, Christine, very foolish indeed."

"I told you I wanted to go for a walk-"

"AND I TOLD YOU NOT TO LIE TO ME!"

I started to cry and curled up against the arm of the couch. I was too exhausted to try and play the game anymore. I was cold and hungry and wanted to fall into sleep!

"All of this is because of me." I stumbled through my tears, "You told me that. You said everything you did was because of me. Everyone hates me and now they're hurt because of me. I want to leave. I want to be gone!"

He straightened and placed his hands in his lap, "Your reasons are not sane. You are not thinking rationally. I believe it best for you to stay in the house until you are well-"

I sat up, "No, please-"

"If you are not well I will not have you out. You are causing yourself harm. I will not have it."

I reached out for his arm and gripped the sleeve in desperation, "Please, Erik, I can't stand to stay here-"

"SILENCE!" he boomed and I was quiet, "You will stay under my protection until you are thinking clearly. I have given you everything, Christine. I saved you. I will always save you. You will not die, you will not get lost, _and you will not leave_."

I spoke through my choked throat, "You c-can't keep me here forever!"

"You underestimate my love, Christine. You always have."

That was three days ago. Nothing has changed. And nothing will.

* * *

 **A/N: If you read & enjoyed this chapter, you can thank the reviewers, favorites, and follows of the previous chapter. Every time I can an email notification that someone reading and wants to follow along and give their thoughts, I work to carve out a little more of my week to keep writing this story. Please keep it up :)**


	11. Entries 31-34

**Entires 31-34**

 **Entry 31**

I feel that you, dear thought keeper, are the only one I may share my feelings with. I have been here only five days and even as I seem to never be out of my husband's gaze, I am so excruciatingly lonely. Sometimes I feel as if the walls are closing in on me. It's always either too hot or too cold and I am never comfortable. When it is too cold the air I breath is dry and painful and when it is too hot I want to melt on every exhale. I have wondered if I had a fever. I have been weak ever since having fallen into the lake. There are times when Erik insists upon wrapping me in furs and quilts even when there is a fire going. He has taken an interest in preparing all of my meals and forcing me to eat every crumb from my plate. My days are planned out. Everything is planned out. And my life is no longer my own.

Sometimes, just before I lose myself to sleep, I think about the last time I saw my dear Raoul. He was tearfully watching me sing and I was falling apart. How I needed him to be strong for me! How I wished he would smile and respectfully accept my forced rejection! His feelings for me only make everything worse. They give me a terrible and vain hope that things might be different one day or perhaps could have been different in another order of life. Images of us together swirl in my head in my most private of times and lead me into the most restless of dreams.

One evening, I dreamed that Raoul and I were children playing by the seashore. I ran through the sand barefoot with my red scarf flying high in my hand like a flag. I ran so fast that I tripped, letting my scarf loose into the wind. When I stood up from the ground, I was plunged into the cellars of the Opera and was looking out onto the lake. Raoul, still in child form, ran out and was ready to plunge into the lake to where my red scarf floated innocently on the surface in the middle of the bluish green water. Knowing how cold it was in the water, I called out to him, but he didn't hear me. He plunged in, made his way to my scarf, but as soon as he seized it, it appeared to become the weight of something far greater. Raoul disappeared under the water and his yell of terror echoed around the chambers. I crawled to the water's edge to see if I could spot him. I cried his name in vain as I stood up to gain a better view. A presence could be felt behind me and I turned about to face the chilling cold black profile of Erik with glowing, fiery eyes. I whimpered his name helplessly. In response, he pushed my chest with one swift blow. I fell back into the water and sank faster than I remembered. Then all was black.

Ironically, I woke up from this dream coughing as if I had managed to catch water in my lungs within reality. I coughed and hacked until I wound up sobbing and curled up around a pillow in my lonely bed. This was how Erik found me. It turned out to be early in the morning and rather than keeping the room dark, he brought in a candle and set it on the nightstand. Without words, he placed a cool bare hand on my forehead and held it there to check my temperature. The coolness of his hand quieted me a little but did not stir me from my crumpled position. After having pulled his hand away, he sat beside me and smoothed the tangled hair from my face.

"Are you going to tell me what is the matter?" he asked quietly after I had begun to breathe steadily again.

Fresh tears emerged and I brushed them away hastily, "Would you push me in the lake, Erik? Would you do that even if you were cross with me?"

He sighed and replied softly, "No darling, I would not. Your swimming is detestable."

Knowing he meant his last statement as one of his dark humored jokes, I smiled a little. Only a little.

"Did you dream that?" he asked quietly.

I nodded once and he sighed again. He took a moment to settle himself up against the headboard before steadily pulling me up to rest against his chest. My body was limp and weak from the struggle of my dream and I relaxed into his boney chest far more easily than I had in the past. He held me for a little while with his long arms wrapped around my shoulders and waist. The weight of his head lightly pressed against the top of mine before he spoke.

"Do you believe I would let you drown?" He asked softly.

I wasn't certain how to answer him. I was already five cellars under the opera with no one or nothing beyond music, books, and cross-stitching to remind me that there was life going on above us. It felt like drowning. Raoul had already drowned in pursuit of something that was not what it appeared to be and I sat on the shore knowing that there was nothing to stop his pointless pursuit except to watch it happen and fail. And if Erik knew my thoughts he would surely make things even worse than they already were. Erik was drowning me. Was he so daft to not see it?

Seeing into my thoughts without my direct answer, Erik spoke again, "What you fail to realize is that you are not drowning, my dear. I am not the one to keep you here like this. You are."

I sat up and looked up at him. At first, I was ready to report his bias observation with cruel words, but when I saw his eyes I shivered and looked away in defeat, "But you are keeping me here." I said brokenly, "You said you wouldn't let me go."

"And what husband who had such a lovely wife ever would?" His tone made me look up with curious interest, "I need assurance that you would return to me and obey what I ask you to do, Christine. Your doubt in me is what keeps you locked away. I daresay I am only a messenger here."

Assurance. He was asking for assurance. I quickly poured over the word with new fervor. I realized I was going about everything incorrectly. I could not simply run away, I needed him to let me go and turn a blind eye to me if only for a few hours. Then I would be free. Then I could follow through with my original plans. But how could I give him assurance? How was I supposed to change a schedule I never had any power over? My mind ran through options until I locked uncertain eyes with him.

Erik was a man and my husband. Despite everything, he was still very much a man. I realized that such intimate attentions had only ever started from him. Everything concerning the marriage, the lessons, everything I knew of our relationship started with him…but what if, just for once, it were to start with me? Would that be what could change my predicament? Not fully thinking my actions through or what negative repercussions that could conspire, I slowly lifted my hands to his mask. I rested them there on his faux cheeks for a moment and he looked at me very skeptically until I gently lifted the leather from his face and set it on the nightstand.

Before me was certainly the ugliest man in the world and yet, it was growing harder for me to truly see that. I was beginning to see Erik for all his complexities as a man, a ghost, and a husband. I placed my hands over his real cheeks as I had just a moment before and let them stay there. He revealed a fragment of his demeanor as he let a shaky exhale escape him. Suddenly, I began to understand what assurance was. I began to understand that he wanted me to seek him rather than it only ever being him trailing after me. The realization of what I needed to do was both terrifying and empowering. I brought my face very close to his and our breath mingled somewhat audibly with each other's and I was sure my heart would pound straight out of my chest. He sat still as if in shock as his eyes moved uncertainly from my eyes to my lips. Finally knowing his thoughts, I closed the small gap between us and kissed him fully on his very thin lips.

As soon as I made the initiation, he responded immediately by wrapping his arms around me and crushing me to him. I believe I have mentioned before that when kissing him, he does not possess thick enough lips that one may be able to pucker and move with, but in the time I have been married to him, he has certainly become bolder in learning what he is capable of despite his disadvantage. He is not the sort of man to simply accept a sort of handicap and simply let it be. Far from it. He revels in his differences whenever he can. It's like an odd challenge for him. He knows he will never be normal, and yet, he works too hard to make himself believe otherwise when it comes to me.

As one arm pulled the small of my back into him, his other hand curled into the back of my head and pushed me somehow closer to him. My lower lip was sucked into his mouth and held lightly by his teeth as he slowly slid his tongue across it. The sensation quickly transpired to the feelings he produced when he was last so close to my womanhood. I could not withhold the shiver and small moan that escaped me.

My reaction encouraged him further. I was no longer in control and I no longer wanted to be. The candle was extinguished and I was being led to my back. He continued to kiss me and I found myself so much more open to what he wanted to do to me that my arms wrapped around his neck to keep him closer. I don't know if I can properly describe just how much of a relief it was to turn away from my dreadful thoughts of existence and let my body give in to whatever it wanted. One of his hands moved to my womanhood and cupped it possessively. Rather than shy away, I pressed into him and begged him with my body to give me what I craved.

I felt his fingers run in slow circles over my womanhood as his lips moved their way down my neck. An audible sigh escaped from my lips and my back unconsciously arched into him. The reaction made him stop and look down at me. For too long, I lay in terrified wonder that I had done something wrong to displease him. My breathing slowed and my eyes grew wide. He eventually spoke, "Tell me what I want to hear, Christine. Say it."

My mind ran and tried to find whatever he wanted to know so that he would keep going. I felt like I was in a long hallway with too many doors, grabbing at each handle only to find it locked. I gulped and said the only words that made sense to the situation, "Erik I…I want you. Don't stop?" He continued the movements of his hand and I shivered again as he lifted my chemise up to my hips. "Don't stop," I whispered feeling they were the only words I knew.

My hands curled into the comforter for he was too far away. The sound of clothes hitting the floor was heard and forgotten once he brought his hips closer to mine. He held each other's eyes for a while as if in awe of what was possible. My hand took a mind of its own and the curiosity to feel what made him a man overwhelmed my thoughts. I slid across his protruding hip and he was deathly still. My hand met his manhood and I gasped in my small understanding of what he placed within me during such times. He shuttered as I closed my hand around him. I moved my hand just a bit and he groaned. Knowing where his hand lay over my own sex, I moved mine to meet it. He entertained our fingers and pressed my hand into the mattress. Nothing happened for a moment as he held each other's eyes. My body felt as if it would burn up and cease to function if something wasn't done to relieve it. I whimpered, "Erik, please."

He leaned forward and took my lips quickly. When I did feel him inside me, I moaned into his mouth and arched my chest into his. The feeling within me grew as he persisted in moving to meet it. He never moved from my lips and when I finally released the sound I emitted would be rather embarrassing if I were to ever hear it come from me in any other context. He met my feeling and groaned long and loud before pulling from me.

We lay beside one another for a little while simply listening to our heavy breaths fill the room. My body was more relaxed than I ever remembered it being and I was ready to stay there for the rest of the day. Eventually, Erik moved from the bed and went to the bathroom. I heard him drawing water in the bathtub and looked up. When he returned he gently kissed me on the forehead, told me he adored me forever, and that breakfast would be ready in half an hour.

And that, dear thought keeper, was how I slowly began to change my position in his world.

* * *

 **Entry 32**

I am all too clearly playing with fire. Four days have passed since I last wrote and my emotions are just as much of a mountainous landscape as Erik's are. It has been almost too easy to give into my body when I feel an urge to repeat what I last wrote There is a sort of power I feel whenever I am able to stop him from just about anything he is doing to change his plans until I am satisfied. In another world, my feelings would be scandalous, but in this world where I am trapped under the surface until further notice, I will do however I wish for as long as he allows it.

Up until my last entry (which was written the afternoon of that same day's encounter), all of our time spent in such a way was separated by a natural evening of sleep. This day was different because after I had taken a bath, I joined him for breakfast. To be honest, it was a terribly awkward affair. He had prepared an assortment of fruit, cheese, and bread with hot tea and lemon then chose to sit with me as I ate rather than find another matter to otherwise fill his time. As our relationship had become soured since the incident at the opera, he had not sat with me for hardly any of my meals. Our conversation was strained as I couldn't seem to think of anything besides what had been done only a half hour before. What was worse was that I couldn't seem to stop blushing. He was friendly, patient, and almost seemed equally shy in response when I would blush.

He thought it would be a better use of our time if he were to play the piano for me during the time of our usual lesson. I was grateful for the opportunity to simply sit and listen rather than have further, potentially more embarrassing conversation with him over a lesson. he left me to have luncheon on my own as he said he had some paperwork to attend to. I didn't question him. That afternoon, we sat across from one another in the Drawing Room. I had a book in my hands that I couldn't seem to focus on and he seemed to mirror this for he kept catching my eye. The first two or three times this happened I quickly tried to disappear back into my book. The feeling of heat seemed relentless upon my cheeks. I wondered if it was more my doing or his that we kept catching each other in such strange ways. Eventually, I shut my book, looked up to him and asked what he was reading.

"Mir v Tselom," he responded out of civility alone.

I waited a moment then asked, "Who is it written by?"

He looked up from the book this time, "Nikolay Nikolayevich Strakhov."

My stare was blank for a moment, "Is he Russian?"

Erik blinked, "Yes."

"Do you like his book?"

"I do not know."

"Why not?"

"I do not possess the skill of reading and answering the inquisitive questions of my wife simultaneously."

I looked down a little embarrassed, "Oh,"

My next couple of minutes were spent looking around the room as if lost. With a heavy sigh, Erik marked his page and put the book on the side table. I looked up attentively, "What is it you wish of me, Christine?"

In truth, I had no idea, at least not entirely. Why couldn't I focus and carry out the afternoon as I had the day before? The word _assurance_ was continuously replaying in my head. Could it possibly mean more than what I had hoped to display that morning? Of course, it did. Assurance was not something to be gained in so short a time. I decided upon a path and went about trying it out to see what would come of it.

With eyes cast down and hands wringing in my lap, I spoke sheepishly, "It's not a significant request…"

"What is it, Christine?" I could hear the strain of his patience was being tested.

"It's just that, well, I feel a headache coming on…"

He sat up a little, but was clearly suspicious of my behavior, "Would you like for me to prepare tea?"

"No, well, maybe later."

"Then what would you have me do?" he snapped crossing his arms.

The heat on my cheeks grew and I clutched at my dress a little, "I was wondering if it wouldn't be too forward to ask to sit by you…and if you wouldn't mind, well, if it wouldn't be too imposing to ask you to run your fingers through my hair?"

There was a long ugly silence that turned my feelings of power into true shame and self-loathing. What if he was truly insulted by my request? What if such things were only acceptable from him when he wanted to initiate them? I gulped and finally looked up. He was still as if dead. I was sure I had crossed a line, sure that everything I thought I had been doing correctly was now tattered and broken, but then I heard him whisper the faintest reply, "Of course,"

I beamed and made my way to sit in front of him on the floor. As soon as he realized what I was doing, he tried to stand, "You will not sit on the floor-"

"It's alright, I promise," I said looking up to him with as kind an expression I could. I continued to speak as I rested my head on his knee, "I don't want to bother you to get up. I just wanted a little relief for a moment. Thank you, Erik."

Even though he did not move for an awkward amount of time, I stayed still with my head resting on him. In time, I heard him clear his throat a little just before placing a hand on the side of my head and running it slowly to my shoulder. I sighed contentedly and we wordlessly stayed that way until supper.

For that evening I poured over what I could do to further win assurance with him. If I was being honest with myself, it wasn't entirely about my freedom either. I was naturally curious what sort of things I could request him to do for me without repercussion. Our physical interactions were no longer as frightening and far from painful anymore. The idea of us sharing intimacies was now only refrained by my fears that he might have murdered people, but if I could push that from my head up until I was trusted to go out on my own, I found that it might be possible to try and enjoy my internment as much as I could. Oh God may you forgive me one day for continuously straying so far from my morals in order to stay content and be free one day!

By mid evening, I had already been sent to bed and settled into my nightdress. I lay awake for a long time thinking of what next I could do to further assure him of trusting me. When I finally made my way out to the hall, I found him rapidly scribbling something at a secretary in the Study. From the doorway, I watched as his quill moved almost frantically along the page with his mysterious red ink. He wrote with the light of a mere candle and had discarded his mask to the top of the secretary. Finishing what looked to be a letter, he sat up straight and sighed before sealing fanning out the page and finally sealing it with a wax seal. When I cleared my throat he stood suddenly and turned to me.

Realizing it was me, he relaxed and reached for his mask. I stopped him, "You don't have to replace it."

He sighed again and kept his head low, "What is it, Christine?"

"I…" One of my hands reached across me to hold my elbow uncomfortably. It was not easy being so forward even if it was what I wanted and wasn't completely a lie. My brain ran from my original reasoning for being out there and I asked, "What were you writing?"

"It's business," he replied shortly, "Do you require a glass of water?"

"No," I replied quietly.

"Then what do you want of me this late hour? There is plenty to be completed before you wake up tomorrow."

"Oh…" I said looking down feeling a bit shattered that he had already rejected me, "I didn't realize you would be working. I'll go back to bed."

I took a step down the hall and stopped when I heard him call my name. When I turned around I found he had made his way across the room to stand closer to me. He spoke again, this time with more care in his tone, "Tell me what you came out here for. Are you hungry?"

"No,"

He sighed, "You want something. Must I guess?"

"No," I answered again.

When I did not speak again, he reached out and placed a hand over my forearm and asked, "Tell me?"

"Do you promise not to be angry with me?"

He paused for a moment then answered, "I promise not to push you into the lake if that's what you mean."

Angrily, I looked up to face him only to find he wore a smirk on his face. He was joking. He wasn't trying to be cruel. I lowered my defenses and took a breath, "I was having trouble getting to sleep and I was wondering if you might come and sing to me."

He sighed and shook his head, "Is that all you came out to ask for?"

"I don't want to waste your time…"

"Nonsense," He replied kindly.

As I led the way back to my bedroom I couldn't help but smile sheepishly. I stopped before getting into bed as thoughts of the last time he was in that room with me began to cross my mind. Forcing them away, I looked halfway back to him and requested he sit with me until I was truly asleep. He nodded in reply. Once under the comforter, I moved over a bit and waited for him to sit beside me. He appeared rather unsure of how I wanted him to continue so I patted the spot close to the headboard where he sat that morning. He tensed, but then followed through to allow me to curl up next to him. I could faintly hear his fast paced heart in his chest as he embraced me both in body and song. The feeling was lovely and I smiled at him as I drifted off into sleep.

* * *

 **Entry 33**

I have come to appreciate my scarce times to write more and more. In summary, more days were spent in my requesting a small physical gesture of kindness from him. He always followed through without hesitation and I eventually grew even bolder. While I believe he was skeptical, I also noticed his patience was growing. It was as if my requesting him physically did something calming for him mentally. I took this as a positive thing. It's been ten days since I first came here and in such a short period we have shared intimacy three times.

The first of these times I have already written of. I blush to rethink of the details. Oh, my shame if anyone were to read this! Such things I cannot think of or I would continuously bottle up all feelings. That would serve no advances either. The second time we shared a bed was in the late afternoon. He had built a fire and I had invited him to sit along side me on the sofa rather than across from me in his chair. He easily complied and sat on the far end from me. I smirked at this but continued my reading. In time I asked if I might lay down. He began to stand and I shook my head. Before he could rise I took his hand and he froze. I smiled kindly and encouragingly until he stilled. Then I lay my head on his leg and looked up at him.

To say he was uncomfortable with this was an understatement. It appeared to me that he may have not even been breathing. He glanced down a few times but then always looked up quickly. I had thought that such an act would make him happy. This was assurance, right? My smile turned downward rather quickly and my brow became knitted. What was I doing wrong? I tried to engage him in being attentive to me and asked if he would tell me a story. He cleared his throat and replied as if strained, "Perhaps another time."

I pouted and looked away. The silence filled the room and my thoughts became darker. What if I was going about this all wrong? What if all the power and control I had built was all in my head? Was I actually crazy? My own personal rabbit hole was endless and Erik was still and firm as a statue. I eventually stood and crossed my arms, "If you don't want me to be with you, you should say so!"

I could see Erik's hands balled into fists around the arm of the sofa and cushion. Was he angry at me? Why wasn't he speaking? I heard him sigh audibly. He stared directly before him, refusing to meet my eyes. I stood as defiantly as I could muster until the pain of rejection slapped me down with cruel force. Tears pricked my eyes and I finally said over the lump in my throat, "Well…Well, fine. I'll go."

Before I could turn on my heal to leave he clearly said my name through his teeth. I turned back and saw him slowly turn his face to me. "I want you to be with me. You fail to realize how much I want."

When I realized his meaning, my eyes went wide. Heat began to rise on my neck and cheeks and I covered my mouth with my hand. "Oh," was all I could seem to say. Our terrible silence continued and I eventually said, "I'm sorry. That wasn't what I…I didn't mean to…I'm sorry."

"If sorrow is all you feel then you may leave," he said dejectedly.

At long last, I could relate to how he was feeling. It was the same way I felt when I thought he didn't want me. Was I so awful? To cause such feelings and response from a man only to deny him? How awful I was to tease even if I had not meant to! Besides, it wasn't that I was sorry for him feeling in such a way. I was apologetic that I had given him such a reaction by my idiocy and short-sightedness! I walked back to him and sat next to him.

"You misunderstand me," I spoke softly, "It was not my intention to…" I looked down in embarrassment as I tried to find the correct words, "To cause you discomfort."

"Perhaps it is _discomfort_ that I cause you?" he spit back.

His accusation baffled and stunned me. Before my mind could override, my body seemed to speak for me, "You do not…cause me…discomfort."

Then I was the one who sat as a stone might with my hands balled into my skirts and my eyes cast down. He called my name and I could hear the tiniest gleamer of hope in his tone. I looked up. We merely held each other's eyes until I moved to remove his mask. I must admit that for once I am grateful that we do not host any visitors. Our actions became rather hasty and our further consummation was carried out right there on the sofa. For the most part, my clothes remained on as I imagine his did. The fire burned out too quickly to have been natural and we were plunged into familiar darkness.

I must say, it was odd to share intimacy on a surface that was not a bed. There was far less room and Erik took to positioning me differently than he had in the past. After he had freed me from my lowest set of undergarments, he sat down with his feet flat on the floor, picked me up, and set me on top of him. I was so shocked at the difference that I could not move at first. He reached his hands up into my skirts and led my hips to move above him. I daresay the new position was one I rather enjoyed and eventually took to moving on my own without his assistance. As I began to feel him swell within me, he took my torso into his arms and crushed his face into the crook of my neck. For a quick moment, I thought he may have bitten me just a little. Oddly enough, I didn't mind what I would have so normally considered shocking and a little painful. Before he finished, he made a mind to lift me enough before sharing his seed. I fell to him and he embraced me before sending me to clean. I could hear the contented sighs of him saying my name over and over in my mind for the next hour or so and I beamed.

Now that I am older and aware, I wonder if other couples do the same kinds of things in similar shared spaces. Even worse, I wondered if such actions have happened on furniture and set pieces at the opera. I'm a little horrified at the thought. Some weeks ago I would have tried to stop him from making such advances on the sofa in the Drawing Room. That particular day I seemed to have stopped caring. It's a bit of a relief to no longer care so much.

* * *

 **Entry 34**

This morning Erik suggested that it would be good for me to get out of the apartment for an hour or so. He proposed a walk around the lake and I couldn't have been more elated. This was progress! My efforts were proving to not be in vain! I excitedly agreed and all but ran to retrieve the fur coat he had purchased for me a few weeks prior. As we left the apartment and went out into the cold cellars, I wrapped my arm in his and chose to walk as close to him as possible. I wanted him to see how grateful I was and that I wasn't looking to run. I wanted him to know that he had nothing to worry about. And…I was cold. Even in my fur coat. He has poor circulation, but even he was warmer than the cold air that I caught sight of my breath in. If I could simply remove myself from the dark stone cellar, that I was actually inside and not out, and that my husband was less of a recluse, I could almost imagine that such an act was normal for a couple to be doing. We spoke of casual topics, many of which encompassed travels and different sights we had witnessed. I enjoyed such conversation. It was easy and even made me happy to discuss.

After luncheon, I reiterated how thankful I was for him having taken me out on the walk. He waved away my gratitude, but I took his hand and told him that I had enjoyed our conversation and wished to travel again if he were not opposed to the effort. He told me that he would go wherever I wanted. I suppose you could say one compliment led to another until my back was against the wall and he was continuing his admiration physically. I feel as if I have made such strides in my intimacy if that is not too awful to say? I appreciate that we still do not speak of such matters. They just happen I guess. Still, I am no longer opposed in the least. More often than not, I am excited and ready to learn what sort of new aspect of this area in our marriage he wants to try. He is the type of man who wants to excel in whatever he decides is most prominent at the time. I take a bit of secret pride in understanding that his current education is my physical desires.

I feel my efforts are far from in vain for tonight he has promised to take me on a carriage ride through the city. I can't help but smile at my small achievement.

* * *

 **A/N: Well folks, what goes up must come down. I hope you enjoyed their bits of marital fireworks because all you Leroux folks know what's about to happen with the carriage ride. *rubs hands together and prepares to actually advance the plot***

 **If you liked how fast this chapter came out, you can thank my reviewers from the last chapter: cotesgoat, "Guest", ArtemisBare , madiamazing , Mominator124 , , Silver Tallest , Child of Dreams , MyNina , and It-is-I-a-Simple-Bagel . Seriously. Thank you. Your encouragement to keep me writing is so wonderful. Thank you :)**

 **Remember we FF writers write and post in hopes that people read, review, follow and favorite our work. I'll keep writing for you so long as I know you're out there!**


	12. Entries 35-37

**Entries 35-37**

 **Entry 35**

I am astonished at how quickly Erik and I have fallen to where we were a week ago. It is now as if all of my efforts have been in vain and I tremble with deep-rooted fears, not only for myself but for Raoul. I am ashamed to admit that I thought I had some kind of control over my life. I am ashamed of how I trusted myself to let go and simply be if only for a moment with Erik. I have so terribly misunderstood him. For the brief moments of our time spent in quiet moments reading or simply in one another's presence, I understood him to have the makings of a kindly and gentle man. My shame and anger to trust him as I have is overbearing and I cannot control myself whenever I find myself in the same room with him. If I were a stronger person, I would have yelled back at all of his mean retorts, but I find I am not. All I want to do is cry.

Everything had been going so well. Yesterday evening, Erik had me dressed in my furs and escorted me up to the streets where a carriage awaited us. The moon was high that night, but only half of it was present. It was enough to blend with the street lights for me to see. Erik said nothing to the driver and as soon as we were seated, we were off. We chatted for a little while as the Opera slowly fell from view. The opening of such an event could have been so normal for a married couple to do if it had only been a Sunday afternoon and my husband didn't wear a mask. We spoke of such casual topics. I pointed out the tea shop I liked to visit, he told me of a flower shop a few doors down where he had purchased roses for my performances.

Once we were well away from the Opera, Erik took my gloved hand and stared down at it as if he were uncertain of his words. His thumb lightly brushed my knuckles.

"Christine, I would like to escort you to the upcoming Masque."

My breath caught as I turned to him, "You? You would take me out? Around people?"

"I have a weakness for the dramatic."

I smirked. He made his statement sound so plain and we both knew his actions were anything but mediocre.

"Would you accompany me?" He asked again.

I smiled. This was my chance! I would be allowed out and surrounded by people! This was exactly what I wanted. I could so easily disappear in such a huge crowd that the Opera was sure to gather for the event. My excitement could hardly be contained. "Of course, I will!"

He nodded and I could feel that he too was excited about the venture, "Good."

"Are we to attend as a couple or do you have something in mind for me to wear?"

"I'm afraid my costume will be that of a solitary nature. I would prefer that you go as something simple. A domino perhaps. I will pick a suitable dress for you before the event."

I nodded. I did not want to be so easily noticed.

"What is it that you are preparing to be, Erik?"

"Why spoil my surprise even for you, my love? I am sure to be the talk of all of Paris."

He seemed proud of himself. It gave me chills to wonder just what he was planning. Our conversation slowly faded until I let my mind give way to the views of the night and let my face be seen from the window of the carriage to catch the air. That night was so very cold, but the feel of free flowing air that wasn't constantly enclosed with me was nothing short of wonderful. At that point, we were steadily moving forward at a casual walking pace out behind the grandstand at Longchamp near Bois. There was not an abundance to see, but it didn't matter.

The night was very clear and very cold and when I saw a well-dressed man standing off to the side and stomping his feet in the distance I curiously leaned further to see if there was something the matter. The shadows opened up and I felt the light of the moon hit my features. It was then that I heard my name called out by the one person I absolutely could not afford to hear. Everything began to happen so fast. Erik's hand wrapped around my forearm and pulled be roughly back into my seat. The curtain of the window was immediately closed and the sound of Erik barking at the driver to rush forward echoed in my ears. Raoul said my name again, but I could hardly hear it over the frustrated neying of the horse and sound of the carriage springing forward.

How could he have known I would be out that way? I hadn't even known where we were headed! Had he seen me earlier and cut me off when he realized the road would lead in a circle of a secluded place? Selfish Raoul! Why did you call out to me? Why would you do such a foolish thing? Did you not know who I would be with? You must have known! But you still called out!

Erik rounded on me with the same angry sea of questions, "Why was he out here, Christine?"

"I don't know," I said in shock.

"Did you tell him we would be out?"

I looked at him in horror, "How was I to know where we would be? I swear I have not spoken with him in weeks!"

"And yet he was able to rendezvous with us here? Your first night out?"

His grip on my arm became too tight I feared he might somehow be able to snap it off. I tried to plead with him, "Please Erik, you're hurting me."

 _"YOU'RE HURTING ME!"_

"Erik-"

"The pain you do to my heart is far worse than any pain I could ever inflict on your body. Do you think this is a game? Have you cooked up some silly scenario in your pretty head to try and fool me?" He dragged me closer so that his masked face nearly met mine. The force of his quick pull made me yelp. I wondered if the driver could hear us over the sound of the horses painting and hooves. "Has it all been a lie, Christine? Your advances? When you have asked for me were you lying then? Tell me or God damn you!"

Tears slid down my face and the water stung my cold cheeks, "I would n-never-"

"But you do not love me! Oh, stupid Christine. How am I to believe you as a wife when you do such pretty things for your monster, but do not love him? Foolish, Christine! Did you not think I would know? God will damn you for giving even a soulless creature like me hope!"

My mind was struggling to keep up. He had not spoken of requiring love from me in our union until then. Was that a part of the bargain? I was always aware of his feelings for me, but I have never thought that I might replicate them. His passion is on a level I am sure I can never duplicate. How could I? He has lived more life in his years than I would ever want to live in two hundred. Were these his thoughts in our private moments? I realized then that my efforts had in fact been in vain. I could never give him enough to make him truly trust me. He would either have to learn to trust me himself or never. And it looked like the latter. Did he expect me to tell him at that moment that I loved him? Why should I have? It was not something I ever wanted to think about! It was far easier to not think when I was with him. I had come to prefer our relationship of when I asked for something I was granted it. He had his wife and I lost my world and that was our arrangement. And now he wanted love, too?

Fate gave me a small life raft. Before I was forced to share my awful thoughts, we were flung forward off the seats as the carriage came to an abrupt halt. From our hands and knees, Erik recovered much faster from the shock than I did. He did not ask if I was alright. Instead, he quickly sat me up by taking a firm, steady grip of my forearms. His eyes scanned my body to look for injury. I wondered if there was fear there. I wanted to see his fear that I may not be alright. I wanted to him to feel what I felt when he threatened to trap me forever. Without a word, he nodded, stood, and left the carriage.

I heard the driver say something about there having been a hole in the road and the horse not being able to avoid it for having been going so fast. Erik began to reproach the poor man, but I did not continue to listen. My hands were fast at work. I wrote a hasty letter to Raoul. I told him to meet me at the masked ball and to wear a white domino. Up until this point, Erik had no reason to really fear for me leaving. I was angry and spiteful. I wanted to give him a real reason to break his demeanor and feel fear. I had worked so hard to bring him calm only to find my actions had made everything far worse than I could have imagined.

Erik was saying something about walking back to the Opera as there was no time to wait. I could hear him stomping back to the door of the carriage. I pulled out money from my purse, folded the letter with Viscomte de Changy printed on the front, and sat on correspondence so that Erik would not see. As Erik took my hand and led me quickly from the carriage, I looked back at the driver with all of the pity I could muster as I pointed to his cab. At first, he looked back at me in shock, but eventually as Erik and I turned the corner, he was making his way back to the seat where my note lay.

I am only able to write this for once we returned to our apartment Erik locked me in my room without a word.

* * *

 **Entry 36**

So much has happened in hardly two days. I have found the time to write for I do not see the benefit in doing hardly anything for my hair besides putting it up. I feel that there is no amount of makeup to do any good for my face and I am all too keen to hide behind my own mask this night. I am sure that I have no slept despite my best of efforts to do so. He has refused to leave me be and whenever my eyes grow heavy he suddenly wakes me with something new. I am so far past exhaustion that even as I wish I could cry to release something of the pent up feelings I have inside I cannot bring myself to do it.

The night of our carriage disaster, Erik left me in my room only until I blew my candle out for the night. It would not surprise me if he had been waiting on the opposite side of the door until the little glow disappeared. I was in bed when the door opened so suddenly that I was worried it would crack on the wall.

"CHRISTINE!" he bellowed and I shot up from where I lay. "You will come out NOW!"

Without hesitation or grabbing a robe, I threw off the sheets and hastily made my way to the door. Once there, I looked up to his unmasked face in wonder. He looked down to me, fire flashed in his eyes, took my chin into his hand and tilted my face up so far that I would have been staring at the ceiling if it were not for his towering over me. I shrank under his gaze. I did not say anything.

"Yes," he said uncertainly, "Yes it is you. You will come now. COME!"

I followed him obediently as he led me to his room. There was a single candle over the organ and laid out on top of it were pieces filled with his scribbled red-inked notes and words. As I drew closer I recognized the words "Don Juan Triumphant" and stopped in my tracks. Erik turned back to me. He first cocked his head to the side then laughed at me.

"You are not so holy any longer, Christine! Such music will not tarnish your soul. You will sing." In horror, I took a step back, but he immediately was before me, "You _will_ sing, Christine." It was not a suggestion. It was not a request. I felt the full power of his threat and could already feel the cold waters of the lake waiting to swallow me up. The imagination of my dream was that no longer. It was becoming reality all too fast. The kind words he had spoken to me from days ago seemed to be the dream.

Erik stalked behind me like some awful predator until I stood beside the organ. He circled around me and tried to catch my eye, but I looked forward and just low enough to avoid him. He stood before me for some minutes. I could feel the heat of anger radiating off of him. His hands rose to my neck and I felt his thumbs slowly pass down my jugular. "Your voice," he spoke quietly, "Everything small detail of you that produces the sound of perfection is owed to me. I will decide what it is you sing and this night you will finally sing like me."

I trembled and tried to hold in a sob.

"She is afraid!" He cracked like thunder, "One always is before something new! But deceit is nothing new to you! That which God strikes down with fire has become a ritual for you. We are far more alike that you dare realize, dear girl. Our souls have been awakened to the music of the night. I daresay you will never forget this."

How terribly correct he was. Not only did I play witness to the awful fright and passion that he wrote in those pages, I played a full part in it. The notes, key signatures, and time signatures within his music would have been impossible if it were not for his constant guidance and terrifying critiques. I did not know it was possible to reach such heights in my voice and at such surprising dynamics. Hours passed, but I could not tell the time beyond the candle that burned angrily over the organ. Its wax fell and dripped down the wood, but he did not seem to notice. There were times when I felt faint from the exertion, but each time I thought I would fall, he would bang on the keys and emit an awful sound. My legs burned, my head was screaming, but my voice never wavered. There was something in the power he held over me where that couldn't seem to happen. It was as if he did, in fact, possess all that my voice could offer and it listened and obeyed him at every impossible note.

We made our way through his damning piece of expression and finally arrived at the scene where Don Juan, who is a in mask at the time, seduces the young ingenue into sleeping with him. I felt that the part of my body that made my voice began to wake other areas that I prayed would remain dormant. The feelings that I had shared only with this thought keeper began to spring into my loins. I wanted to scream until they left me. The amount of turmoil and anguish threatened to destroy me, but only in the most private and incredible ways. I found myself backed up against the nearest wall, clinging to it with weak fingers for any kind of support. The organ built my feelings further and Erik's voice matched. Oh, the sensation! How was any of it possible? I hated him for creating such feelings and I hated myself for having the indecency to want them _and to want him_.

The sound of the organ fell away after one final horrifying chord. I was offered no release, no pleasing moment of flight. Erik was standing with an arm on either side of me. My sinful body was ready to reach for him and beg him to release me. I knew that he could do it, but there he stood refusing to help. He panted hard and I felt that he too wanted what I did. I was ready to reach for him, ready to do what I had to do to make our feelings right. He placed his forehead on mine and I leaned up as I thought he was going to lean down to my lips. With a flash of anger and cruelty in his eyes, he pulled his head away.

"Feel what I feel." He seethed through his teeth and stepped backward unevenly. I could see that his hands were bleeding from having played for so long. My knees failed me and I was on the ground in a heap of embarrassment and anger. I could feel the wetness between my legs. The fire that was once there seemed to smolder and I felt myself fill with awful black smoke. I sat there, curled up on the floor not wanting to move. I feared he would see even more through my chemise then I wanted him to. I didn't want him to see the truth. I didn't want him to see the unquenched selfless desire I felt for him. This surpassed any wish I had to escape. It was not even completely for my needs. His music filled my mind with the most obscene of thoughts. I wanted to act, but there he would not come to me. He leaned on the opposite wall. I wanted to tell him he was cruel and awful and that he did not deserve me…but I could not bring myself to it. To an extent, I felt he was right in his accusations. I felt that I was just as awful in soul as he. We were equals at last and not for qualities of redemption.

He left the room and when he returned he hurled a heavy black domino dress at me.

"You have two hours. Then we leave. It is the night of the Masque and we shall not go missing."

* * *

 **Entry 37**

Erik is late and it would appear that I have time to write about this night prior to his coming for me. Nonetheless, I must continue quickly. I wish for him to never find my true thoughts and what I am about to reveal is far more damning then songs.

I was fetched from my room through Erik's voice alone and told to join him in the small foyer. He had already extinguished the lights of the house and held before him a lone lantern. The costume he wore was immaculate in spender with rich red velvet and gold lining. He appeared almost Elizabethan with the trim of his pants, black tights, shining red shoes, and thick round sleeves. Most striking was his long cape that reached the floor. I later discovered that he wore the words, "Don't touch me! I am Red Death stalking abroad!" upon his back. His head was topped with a wide-brimmed hat and he wore no mask.

"I daresay my mask will be the most impressive one of the evening!" He leaned back and laughed. If we had been on more agreeable terms, I would have complimented him on the fine detail of his apparel, but at that time I could not find the words. "You take me too seriously, dear girl. This is the only night I shall be recognized for spectacular physical attributes. I must dress in a manner that will best showcase them."

His pace was brisk and I could sense his anticipation for the evening. It was a new experience for me to witness him in such a way. He was truly excited to simply walk among others without a mask. How I wanted to pity him! But I found myself unable to under the circumstances. My feet were tired from standing for over a day and my legs were still weak. I believe that there are such times he wishes for me to be a good wife for him and owe him a kind word but at that time, like many others, I failed him miserably.

We reached my dressing room and I was given specific instructions to join him no later than an hour after midnight. He allowed me to walk amongst others, but not to talk to anyone about who I was. I was to blend into the surroundings and blend out at the appropriate time. "I cannot have you taking my spotlight." He joked, but I could not smile. He looked to the door and then back to me. "You will return to me." I believe he meant his words as a statement, but I was sure I heard the question of uncertainty in them. When my answer was not immediate, he repeated his words and it was anything but a question the second time.

I looked up to him and asked, "Why did you bring me if you thought I would not return?"

"Love is living in constant uncertainty…" He began to untie my black mask, "I suppose you would know nothing about that for me, but for once, just once, this night is not about you." He pulled the mask away from my face and held it in his hand. "Your only responsibility will be to remain my obedient wife and return here at the proper time." He studied my face for a moment. I hoped he saw the same awful features that I had earlier! The black holes beneath my eyes, my hollow cheeks, and my colorless features were so present to me! His merciless music did this and I wanted him to see how awful I had become. Nonetheless, he crossed my jaw with his thumb and brought his face close to mine. "The irony of my holding your mask does not go unnoticed, Christine. You will return to me for no one will recognize you otherwise, however, I will always recognize your soul. You will never be able to hide from me. Ever."

And with that, I was left alone. Strangely enough, I did not want to be among the people and instead, sat with my head laid out on my vanity and waited until a quarter to midnight. I gave Raoul (assuming the driver had taken him my note) very specific directions on where to meet me. There is a little room behind the chimney place of the big crush room. I told him to stand near the door that leads to the Rotunda. Lo and behold, right at midnight, I caught sight of an awkward looking white masked domino with blonde hair. He appeared so out of place as couples danced and drank all around him. My heart caught when I first saw him. I knew that I still had a chance to go back on my plans and make things right…but I did not. I leaped out, took his hand and started to run through the crowd. He said my name over all of the commotions and I had to turn around and place a finger over my hidden lips as a warning.

Quite suddenly, I felt Raoul's hand slip from mine. I turned around to see him staring beyond the balcony of the grand foyer. Upon the steps and holding much room around him for his passing, was my husband. Raoul uttered, "The death's head of Perros-Guirec!" My brow furrowed. When did he see Erik's face? Raoul appeared ready to make his way to his own red death and I frantically reached out to his wrist and pulled him forward. I rushed him up two floors and threw us into a box over the theatre. I closed the door behind us and whispered, "You must remain at the back of the box and no matter what happens, you cannot allow yourself to be seen by anyone."

Raoul took off his mask and he was as dashing and brave and bold as ever. Ashamed at what I knew lay beneath mine, I found I could not remove it. Instead, I placed an ear to the door. I could not be sure if my husband followed us or not. I could not bare to look as I ran. "He must have gone," I said, "I fear there is nowhere we can hide if he is to try and find us. If he has seen us you must run, Raoul."

Foolish Raoul made a grab for the door to open it, but I threw all of my weight up against it and took the knob into my hands, "You must not go out there!"

"It's he!" he exclaimed, "This time, he shall not escape me!"

Forwardly, I placed a hand on his chest and held him at that length away from me. My eyes narrowed in suspicion, "Whom do you mean by 'he?' Who shall not escape you?"

"Who?" he repeated with anger, "Why, he, the man who hides behind that hideous mask of death! The evil genius of the churchyard at Perros! Red Death in a word, madam, your husband! But I shall snatch off his mask, as I shall snatch off my own; and, this time, we shall look each other in the face, and he and I, with no veil and no lies between us; and I shall know whom you love and who loves you"

It was he who then burst into a fit of mad laughter. What had I done to invite him to see me? How could I have been so cruel to have him see Erik twice only to have to run away again? I knew that I could not run…and I also knew that I could not hold him back. Raoul's blood was about to be on my hands. Erik's words were running through my head again. He wanted love. That was the only thing that could hold him to believing me…and yet I could not seem to grant it to him. No. I could not. I did not know it within myself. But I knew that I had had such feelings for Raoul. Raoul needed to hear something that would make him stop his death's pursuit. I spoke the only words I could, "In the name of our _love_ , Raoul, you shall not pass!"

He stilled and I was grateful for the briefest of moments. For another minute, Raoul lived and breathed and was not at the hands of Erik. That was all I needed even if it meant his onslaught of awful words. "You lie, Madam, for you do not love me and you have never loved me! What a poor fellow I must be to let you mock and flout me as you have done! Why did you give me every reason for hope at Perros only to leave me with words of marriage to another man? For honest hope, Madam, for I am an honest man and I believed you to be an honest woman who needed assistance when your only intention was to deceive me!"

It was then that he burst into tears. How was it that I induced tears from two grown men who loved me? What monster does that become me? I did what I could to not let his words affect me. I could not have him storming out of the box. I needed him to stay put. After he had redeemed himself I spoke softly, "You will beg my pardon one day for all of those ugly words, Raoul, and when you do, I shall forgive you."

He shook his head, "No! No, you have driven me mad! When I think that I had only one object in life: to give my name to an opera wench!"

Those words stung me. He was proving Erik's point on his class and he did not know it. I tried to swallow my hurt, "Raoul…How can you?"

"I shall die of shame!" he snapped.

"No…No, dear, you must live!" I said rather seriously. He looked up to me, certainly confused over my meaning. Feeling the failure of my plan, knowing that he would never accept me as I was and that I had no chance with him. I decided it necessary to let him go. "Goodbye." I choked, "Goodbye, Raoul."

"Oh," he said sarcastically as he staggered forward, "You must let me come and applaud you from time to time!"

Feeling the pressure of my past two days, I said dryly, "I shall never sing again. My voice is no longer good."

"Really?" he asked in jest, "So he is taking you off the stage? Does he want to make you a respectable wife? I congratulate you! Perhaps we shall meet in the Bois one of these evenings?"

"Not in the Bois nor anywhere," I whispered then finally looked into his eyes, "Raoul, you shall not see me again."

"May one ask at least to what darkness you are returning? For what hell are you leaving, mysterious lady…or for what paradise?"

"I thought I came to tell you, dear, but I can't tell you now…you would not believe me! You have lost faith in me, Raoul; it is finished!"

He was relentless.

"But look here!" he cried. "Can't you tell me what all this means? You are free, there is no one to interfere with you."

"You misplace the meaning of my 'freedom.'"

His eyes narrowed and he took a steady breath before he continued, "You seem to me quite sensible, Christine. You know what you are doing. Explain yourself, Christine, I beg of you! Why do you hide from me on your carriage rides only to ask for me at a ball? Anyone might have deceived as I was. What is this farce?"

I felt as if none of my words could ever break his anger towards me. I took a big breath and rugged at the tied strings of my mask to remove it. My voice was grave, "Dear, it is a tragedy!"

Raoul finally stepped backward and was quiet. His hand flew to his mouth as he scanned my face with quick horrified eyes. I knew what he saw. It was all I knew anymore. After my appearance registered with him, he held out his arms and cried, "My dearest! My dearest! You promised to forgive me!"

Tears pricked my eyes and I could not find it within myself to do so immediately, "Perhaps…Someday." I mumbled. My feeling of hopelessness and dread were overwhelming. I had no reason beyond my own selfless dreams to be tearing a good man such as Raoul down to my level. He was so frustrated and confused. How could I stay there? I took a liberty of thoughtless fate and kissed him tragically on his lower cheek I then returned my mask and retied it over what little was left of my complexion and replied, "Don't follow me."

I ran all around the opera until I was sure I had lost him. There were so many people and I doubted any of them were sober. One man grabbed me and tried to sit me on his lap. I screamed until he let go and said something about me being an "uptight ballet rat." He was dressed well, far better than the artists and performers around. He must have been a patron who came to try and use his connections to unsuspecting young women. I wondered if he would be asking about me later, trying to take out his shame by ruining my career, but that did not matter.

From the corner of my eye, I repeatedly saw Erik stalking about. Every so often, a brave soul would try and exchange in conversation with him. With his face still as a statue, Erik took to waving them away. They must have feared death in his eyes. No one ever pressed him further. A dark humor rose in me at the thought of so many people screaming and applauding if Erik were to move his face and speak. Another man reached out for me and tried to grab at my mask to kiss me. I screamed and swiped at his face. How I wished that Erik might look up! How I wished to no longer have to suffocate in a world where I was seen as a whore to be carried off!

What was worse were the feelings that I did not deserve such protection. Erik had trusted me and I betrayed him. I could have easily sat in my dressing room all night. I could have slept and felt better than I do now! I am so exhausted! And Erik will be here any moment. We will have to trek five cellars below and I am worried I will not make it. My poor Erik will believe me good enough to take me home and I know that I am not.

* * *

 **A/N: *throws wrench, laughs maniacally, successfully misses target...cries at poor aiming skills***

 **Another update in less than a week! Thank you so much to my reviewers from the last chapter who inspired me to keep writing: ArtemisBare , Child of Dreams** , **cotesgoat , Dkk5 , E.M.K.81** , **It-is-I-a-Simple-Bagel , madiamazing** , **MyNina , and Mominator124** ! **You have** noooo **idea how stupidly giddy I get** whenver **I get an email from FF. Like, it's stupid. I feel like I should have more flies stuck in my teeth by now. You are the best and keep me honest :D If you like faster updates, thank these awesome reviewers (and consider dropping a quick review yourself)!**

 **Unrelated Note: If you're a follower of my other in-the-works story, Capitol Intent, I'll have to ask your further patience on Part Three. In all honesty, the political situation of the USA has really got my down. Even though that story is less about politics and more on character drama, I still find it difficult to connect to it now. Since moving from Washington D.C. two years ago, I find I am most inspired when I make it back for trips and reconnect with some of my favorite places and wonderful artistic locals trying to create good social change. I've visited twice this year and it's like stepping back into my old world. I haven't forgotten about you readers. Thank you for your support. Till then, I hope you enjoy these updates!**

 **To my fellow Americans and anyone who finds themselves in the USA today, I hope you enjoy the July 4th birthday shenanigans :)**


	13. Entires 38-40

_A/N: In response to a few reviews:_

 _Christine is looking rough in the face from not having slept in days, her emotional struggles, lack of makeup, and the effect Don Juan had on her. This is why Raoul was shocked to see her looking so bad and is also mentioned in Leroux. I took the liberty of going a bit more in-depth on what she was going through._

 _Sooooo Christine kissed Raoul on the cheek...then says she loves Raoul to keep him from going out to meet his death with Erik...does that make her an adulterer?_

 _While I appreciate all reviews, if you would like to take up an issue with another reviewer, please private message them…I was pretty confused to read a review that I believe was meant as a response to another reviewer...thanks for your support nonetheless..._

 _On with the show!_

* * *

 **Entries 38-40**

 **Entries 38**

"Did you enjoy your evening above ground?" My husband asked so casually the morning following the Masque. I kept my eyes down. How as I to answer that? After having seemingly walked through the glass surface my dressing room mirror for a second time, Erik embraced me in the darkness. It was easy to relax into his arms. I was so awfully tired. It had been at least two full days since I had any sort of sleep. I am sure that I have never stayed awake so long. The feel of Erik's velvet costume was warm and surrounded me almost entirely as he held me to him. I was ready to lose myself right there on my feet. Understanding my exhaustion, he took me into his arms and carried me to the end of the thin corridor where Cesar stood proud and bright against the darkness. Once we were both on his back, it did not take me any time at all to rest my head against the crook of Erik's shoulder and fall into nothingness. Understanding all of this once I woke up, I had attempted to go about the day as normally as I could. Part of me wished Erik would not bring up the previous evening's events.

The final response to his question was a shrug.

"Did you find that the beings above are not as pleasing as you remember them?"

I skeptically looked up to him, "What do you mean?"

"Our paths did not cross at all. It was as if you were not even there at all."

"You said it yourself. The night was not to be surrounded by myself. I was waiting for you in my dressing room most of the evening. When I went out drunkards grabbed at me and women were careless in spilling their drinks when they laughed. It was not my genre of event especially when being unaccompanied."

"I trust you are unharmed?" He tried to speak as if carefree, but there was a gleam of threat in his voice. What would he do if he knew of the men who reached for me and meant to take advantage of my being alone? It appeared he was far more interested in killing those I took interest in, but not those who took unshared advances towards me. For a fleeting moment, I wanted him to keep those men from reaching from me and trying to make me play a part in their indecencies. The feeling of being treated as if I were a cheap object by men was revolting and was the very point I was out to avoid by taking a husband so soon.

How was it that I was already turning back to Erik for protection? One party and a few events and I found myself wishing to stay down there in a hole with him. How was that possible? Rather than give him any indication of my thoughts, I answered him forwardly, "I am unharmed. I just do not wish to attend such loose functions anymore. I do not like what the drink does to such normally friendly people."

"Innocent girl! Do you not know that all men wish to play out their drunken fantasies? They seek out such ventures just to feel accepted in their most cruel thoughts as women find themselves too indisposed to care about their reputations."

I looked up at him in accusation, "And what of you, Erik? Do you share their cruel thoughts?"

His response was cold and low, "You already know my most intimate of thoughts through the music. There is no more or no less than that."

My brow furrowed. If what he said was true, I know just what depths my husband could attain in emotion and - dare I say - sickness. I never thought I could be so damaged by music. I had hardly been awake an hour and I already felt tired. My hair was loose around my shoulders as I could not find the strength to put any of it up earlier that morning. When I finished my breakfast, I went to the sitting room to sit on the sofa and lean my head on the back. I was so very tired. There was too much to think about and I no longer knew what I wanted. The feeling was rather hopeless.

Erik sat down across from me and smoothed the hair that was threatening to fall into my face behind my ear. I let my eyes close before he spoke. "You are still tired."

My response was an incoherent agreement.

"I have worked your voice too hard, I believe. Such feeling is something I have grown accustomed to where you are only just learning. Your voice is ready and your soul answers, but your body is too delicate. And yet…there is time for us."

His words made me grimace. The thought of repeating the past two days was horrifying. A tear escaped my left eye and I pushed my face into the cushion rather than brush it away.

"Christine?"

"I want to sleep," I said into the sofa.

"Then you may sleep. I will play something for you on the piano and you will sleep."

I did not manage to wake until early evening. By that time, I was rested enough to no longer need sleep, but not awake enough to be useful for anything. I ate something light for dinner. I read for a little while. Erik did not seem to have much interest me. I'm now in my bedroom writing this.

* * *

 **Entry 39**

Over the past two days, Erik and I have been discussing whether or not I should return to the stage. I would have thought him more opinionated on the subject considering all of his work with me but it appears the opposite. Without permanence, he has asked me if I would like to be Margarita in the restaging of Faust that was to go up at the end of the month. A year ago I would have never thought it possible. I would have jumped at the chance and cried with joy over the opportunity. However, now that everything has happened and the opera most likely still despises me, I was greatly unsure of what to do. My thoughts went more towards small pleasures I had so often taken for granted before things went so sour between Erik and myself. I used to enjoy the sunshine whenever I saw it. I would stroll through parks and take in the sights and smells of the flowers. Sometimes I would save my coins and go to a bakery for a sweet. There were such small things I wanted to do again.

These thoughts filled me this afternoon and my heart ached for a small helping of freedom. My cross-stitching was well on its way to being finished and the bright mandala that stared back at me reminded me of the colors spring would be bringing before too long. I looked up at Erik as he thumbed through a book on while sitting on his chair. His armchair is the tallest seat in the room. It is the only one that doesn't make his legs bend up over his lap. When he sits I can sometimes forget just how tall he is.

"Erik?" I asked quietly.

"Yes, Christine?" He replied quickly.

I took a breath and blundered out my thoughts, "I was wondering if my singing in Faust would be the only way you would allow me above?"

His head turned too the side a little as if in thought. He sighed then replied, "Do you still wish to run from me?"

His question made me think for a few moments. I had to admit to myself that I was feeling quite drained. My ambitious dreams to running were quite dull in the light of everything that had happened in only a week. The thought of Erik being a murderer still rang in my head, but the chandelier falling seemed like a distant memory. My reply was slow and thought out, "No. I am not interested in such endeavors any longer. I only wished to run because you scared me."

"Christine," he said suddenly and I was stilled, "Would you like for us to relocate?"

I looked up in a bit of shock. Did he not intend to keep me locked away in the dark forever? The setting seemed to suit him so well even if it did nothing for me. Fear struck me and I wondered if he meant to move to a less formidable location than the one we were currently in. "Where would you like to go, Erik?"

"I am a man of good monetary propriety. You fail to realize just what that means for us. We may go wherever you would like. Europe has many Operas. Do you have a preference? Something to do with climate? We could go to Naples or Rome if you would prefer a warmer place. Barcelona is also warm most of the year. There is also Berlin if you would prefer a more structured society than the Italians or Spanish. There is Moscow if you would like to see more interesting architecture. London offers the most interesting imports. There are plenty of options."

His words gave me such hope! I wished to travel again and see the way the sun shined on so many different places! With tears pricking my eyes my mouth whispered the one place I wished to see again sooner than any of the others, "Stockholm?"

Erik looked up to me and even while masked, I could see the faint shine of a smile in his eyes. He responded kindly, "Yes, Stockholm if you prefer. You would likely be the greatest star to ever settle there, my dear. They have no Royal Opera and are likely to be lacking one for some time. You would have to make due with smaller, more personable feats. "

My breath caught in my throat. I was worried my words would anger him, but my homesickness was so great I couldn't seem to stop myself, "And if I were to only sing for you? I do not need an opera. While my father is certainly proud of my accomplishments, he was a simple man and raised me in the same manner…I miss Sweden." There is a sort of class I have never been able to achieve being in France. No matter how hard I try I can never seem to grasp it and I requested these things of him with such hope. "Would you take me to Sweden, Erik? Would you really?"

His eyes filled with compassion as he shut his book and placed it on the side table. After crossing to sit by me, he took my hands in his, "My love, I have told you that I would take you anywhere. I only ever need you to sing for me. Before we leave, there are things I must attend to. I wish to finish Don Juan and put it behind me. You are my new life. I will no longer sustain myself on such darkness."

"Do you mean this? Do you swear?"

"I swear by my love that we will leave and you shall never hear that music again. You have known enough to understand me as best you can. However, to finish it, I will require solitude as to not disturb you further. I will need to trust you to leave with me when the time comes."

For the first time since he took my hands, I took his fully as well. My words pleaded, "Trust me. Please. We will leave together or not at all. I swear this. I'll be your wife forever as I told you I would be. Please take me away from here."

"I will arrange for everything. I need only a month's time."

Tears fell from my eyes, "Thank you."

His hand moved to wipe away my tears, "If I ever see you cry I wish for it to be like this." He then let my hands go and stood, "There is much to be done. I will require the rest of the afternoon to prepare what is necessary."

"Erik?" I asked before he could leave the room. He stopped and turned without a word. "Erik, if this is truly happening, then I believe I will sing one last time for you in Faust. Would that be acceptable?"

He nodded before walking out and said, "More than acceptable."

With him leaving for the afternoon, I have received the time to write. As I review this, I cannot seem to stop smiling. I'm going home, Papa. I'm finally going home.

* * *

 **Entry 40**

My husband has arranged for me to stay at an all women's boarding house for the following month of rehearsals for Faust. The women here are rather quiet as they wait to be married. They are mostly women of meager means who moved to Paris in the hopes of marrying someone of higher financial rank. I understand many of them to be from the country. They have small jobs both around the house to learn skills for finer city society housekeeping than in the country. Many of their families from their hometowns pay for them to learn these skills. All of our meals are shared and I have taken an interest in learning some of the skills they teach such as cooking and removing stains from fabrics. Most of the women share their rooms with another, but I have my own. I am the only married woman here and it is understood that I would be here for the month while my husband was "away" and our home was in "transition."

Things are very strict here. I am to be back every evening no later than seven. Breakfast is always served at seven in the morning and we are to be up and active at least an hour prior to this. Light cleaning is done in the morning, but I am allowed to leave to practice my music at the opera as needed. This place is hardly a half hour walk from the Opera. The Madame who runs the house has a weekly allowance to give me for anything I may need such as fair for cabs and small pleasures such as flowers and baked sweet. It has been a few days and even as the bitter cold hits my face most cruelly, I would much prefer walking outside. I fully expect this to be my last time in Paris for a long while. I want to spend my time as thoroughly as I can.

The last time I saw Erik was at the gate of the passageway to the underground lake. I noticed that his pace became slower and slower the closer we came to the surface. He had already arranged for a trunk to be taken to the boarding house and took to keeping my hand in the bend of his arm as we walked. I couldn't help but think how painful this was for him. We had been almost inseparable since we were married and now he was letting me go for an entire month. I offered to write him while he seemed grateful for the correspondence he declined saying it would be too much of a distraction.

"As much as I loathe to do this," He told me, "It is most necessary to finish my art. Our new life awaits and I must wrap up with the old."

I nodded in understanding and he rocked forwards and back on his feet a few times as he looked at the gate. His hand remained squarely in his far pocket where the key he had taken from me was. It appeared that he was in a deep enough place of thought that he had temporarily forgotten me. I began to feel a pinch of anxiety at the thought of him no longer wishing to let me go. Even as I no longer wanted to stay in Paris, I did, at the very least, want to spend my time above ground for the time that I remained.

In time, he looked back to me. He took my hand from the crook of his arm and held it in his own. His gloved fingers ran over my wedding ring.

"You will not remove this for any reason. Do you understand this?"

With confusion, I looked at him and replied, "I have never removed it. Why would I do so now?"

"You understand what this means, don't you?"

"Erik-"

He continued over my call, "It means that you're my wife. You'll always be my wife. No one can take you from the vow you made to me or you will be damned. And no one will ever be able to steal you away. No one. I will always find you. Always. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Erik, of course. Where is this coming from-"

"You should know very well why I say these things. Do you believe me so vapid to not see you running around with your young man the other night?"

My eyes widened and I tried to lower my hand from his in a poor attempt at defense. "Erik, I…that wasn't-"

He pulled my hand forward and spoke a mere breath away from me, "You will come back to me, Christine. What you do this month is between you and the Almighty, but I swear by Heaven and Hell that if you are so much as a minute late to your dressing room after the first performance of Faust I'll blow Paris into a crater faster than you or anyone else can run away. Nothing on Earth can hide you from Erik. Not even Erik himself." His eyes began to move in a frenzy, "You're his or goddamn you. His or…or…my…Christine…." He was suddenly reaching for me, both of his hands on my shoulder for support. I nearly buckled under the additional weight as his body shook so violently that it shook my core.

"Christine!" He howled and I knew he was crying by his staggered breathing, "Christine, you mustn't leave me. You must come back to your monster or he will kill everyone. Don't make me do that, Christine. You're the only one who can keep me from doing that. I am an evil creature without you. You must…you must be good to your monster. Without you…without you there is only death. Death for everyone! Christine…"

My husband's masked face fell to my shoulder as he crushed me to him. His threats were enough to drive me over the edge and turn from him, but his tears….He loves me. He loves me so very much. What does one do when they know they are loved by someone so intensely? And he was absolutely right. Who on earth would ever be there for him if not me? Who else did he have? My poor husband. My poor Erik! Knowing such a love only to lose it! How could he keep himself calm?

I then understood his fears and took such pity upon him. My arms wrapped around his shoulders and I tried to offer him whatever comfort I could. I imagine that any good husband might be sad to be away from his wife for an entire month. I should feel grateful, shouldn't I? To have a husband who would not want to see me go and yet has prepared such kind arrangements for my comfort while he is indisposed. And…and I suppose I am grateful. I am. So I comforted him as best I could until he departed from me to compose himself. His hand skimmed through my hair so lightly as to not pull it from my hat.

"Christine…"

"I will come back," I told him as assuredly as I could. "You need not threaten me to do so. I will honor my promise, husband."

His eyes closed painfully and he looked again. He sighed and asked quietly, "Would it be so much to ask….before you leave…would you…"

Slim understanding of his request came to my mind. "Oh, Erik," I said quietly and he looked up. My hands moved to remove his hat and mask as his eyes were cast downward. I then felt suddenly awkward. He is so much taller than me and even on my toes I would not have been able to reach him. I stood strangely in hopes he would bend down to ease the tension, but he merely stayed put. He finally looked at me when I laughed a little, "Erik, you must meet me somewhere in the middle. I cannot reach you up there!"

His eyes were blank for a moment so I continued as lightly as I could, "Must I find a stool to kiss my husband? I feel there are none in this passage."

Before I could laugh again at how uneasy I felt, he wrapped his arms around my lower back and shoulders to pull me forward and up. The kiss we shared was light and kind and before no time could pass at all, he was letting me down and taking his mask and hat from my hands to replace them. "The rest must come later then," he mumbled and I blushed, "There is no time or suitable place."

"Erik!" I gasped.

His eyes caught mine and I could tell he was smirking, "I told you there would be truth between us. This is why you cannot stay with me this month. Your lovely distractions are too much."

I looked down as my face grew hotter and he placed a hand under my chin to lift my gaze.

"I love you, Christine."

A lump formed in my throat and I replied painfully, "I…know, Erik."

"You still do not love me…no. But there will be time. Perhaps when you return you will love me. Even just a little…"

"I'll return," I repeated and ended the subject.

He nodded and dropped the key into my hands. I passed through the gate and when I turned to look back his lantern was out. I am sure I will see his golden eyes every time I look into the dark from now on. At first, I believe him angry, but on second thought, I thought I saw tears forming anew.

And now I have a month. Surely nothing so drastic can happen in a month.

* * *

 **A/N (part 2): *Auther surveys beautiful glass sculpture of a heart while holding an old hammer* Hmmmmmm...** **:D**

 **Once again, thank you so much to all of my reviewers from the last chapter. I know this chapter was a bit shorter than my others and if you find more mistakes in this one than others, I do apologize as I'm short on time. I really love to read your thoughts on my work and it keeps me writing. We're about to run into some stormy weather this upcoming month so stay tuned! I believe many of you will like the final outcome...it's just a matter of getting to that point that you'll have to be ready to face...**


	14. Entries 41-43 & 44-46

**A/N: It's been a little while since my last update and I do apologize. I've been hosting friends and traveling a lot this past month and that has taken up a lot of my free time. On top of that, I hit some writers block where I just wasn't feeling the content. I feel Entries 41-43 are particularly choppy :/ This is all pretty transitionary BUT I figure that the least I could do was offer a double update! So, this chapter is my longest by far, but it is split into two parts (if you find yourself needing a break).**

 **Oh. Just felt it necessary to remind you that this story was inspired by Anna Karenina. I said that from the very beginning. My original ideas for Christine and Raoul's relationship were much more damning...I feel that my choices in this chapter were far less so...That said, I hope you enjoy...**

* * *

 **Entries 41-43**

 **Entry 41**

I believe myself rather foolish. A week passed and I began to count the days to the performance. I believed that things would somehow become easier and that the worst of my days would simply be waiting until I left. My last encounter with Raoul was so wretched. To tell him that I loved him only to demand he leave me…Oh, what have I done? I was sure that once he had the answer he desired, but understood anything between us would never be possible that he would leave… How wrong I have been.

For reasons I am uncertain of, Raoul was passing through the foyer of the Opera at the end of rehearsal. Once he spotted me there was no running away without causing a scene. He commented on how I appeared to be doing much better than the last time he saw me. He complimented the fresh color on my cheeks and liveliness of my eyes. Lastly, he mentioned how well I was being provided for by the state of my new dress. I looked down in humility. Before Erik, I would never have chosen such finery. After he took my measurement from the Opera's costume shop, he has been filling my closest with the dressings of a diva. I feel such finery attracts attention I would rather go without, but I would rather be well dressed and in comfort than ragged on the streets. It would be rude to be anything other than grateful.

I shyly commented to Raoul that I have always been beholden for what was provided to me and mentioned that I did not deserve such nice things for the little I returned.

"Is it fine dresses you want, Christine?" He asked, suddenly desperate, "I never took you for such regalia, but if that is what is required of your chosen suitor, I assure you I can provide."

His words made me bristle, "If that is what you think of me, you clearly know nothing."

That was the first day I flagged down a cab to take me home. His words hurt. They were the same awful things that the company would say about me at the opera. I saw their glances and could almost hear their whispers. They believed me vain to be dressing the way I was, but unless I am to visit Erik, collect other clothes, and somehow drag them up to the surface in a trunk, I must be content with what I have. What I must remember is that Erik supplied me with my needs and surprised me with what I would never ask for. That is a kindness.

The following day, Raoul was outright waiting for me when I had finished rehearsal. I should have known better and should have made my exit out of a stage door. He apologized for his accusation the previous day and requested that I spend time with him while he was still in town. I didn't quite know how that would be possible and told him so.

"There is so much more to do in this city than wait around on me to end rehearsals. Besides, you make it sound as if your expedition will be less than enjoyable. I believed you to be a man to take pleasure in such ventures?"

"How can you speak so lightly of such serious things?" he asked as if shocked. "Perhaps we shall never see each other again! I may die during the expedition."

After everything that had happened to me, it was difficult to understand the seriousness of his situation as well. I had always seen him as so carefree, well fed, and without a true problem in the world. Surely his uncle would not allow him to walk towards his own death where he could never be found again. Nonetheless, I let Raoul fret and believe he was in real danger as I looked down at the marble floor of the foyer.

"What are you thinking of, Christine?" he asked once he was calm.

Rather than be accused of leading him on further, I told him my true thoughts, "I am thinking that we shall not see each other again…"

"And does that make you so radiant?"

For a moment, I lost my words. Only a man in love would speak such words!

"You speak too forwardly, my old friend."

"Surely you know we are much more than that. You told me you loved me!"

I sighed and looked away. He was right. What he appeared to not understand was how easily I threw such words away. What did he know of such complexities? No…No, to say that is not fair. Surely his feelings are true. What else would drive him to such lengths? I know him to be a good man. And what does this make me for having led him in a direction that is a lie? I fear I no longer know myself to understand how my words may affect others. However, despite everything, I could not throw such loose words at my husband. I could not lie to him. As love has clearly driven Raoul mad, to lie of love to Erik would kill him. For this alone, Raoul knows so little of true pain.

"I know what I said,"

"Then let us be happy before I leave!"

"And how would you like to do that?"

Suddenly and sporadically, Raoul took my hands and let me to a quiet corner behind the large marble stairs. In the same breath, he said, "Marry me."

" _What_?"

"If nothing else, play my fiancé. Give me something before I leave or I will have nothing."

"You have so much-"

"It is nothing."

"Your family. Your brother and title-"

"Nothing to you. You're all I've ever truly wanted. Nothing compares. Christine, can't you see? You're not meant for the life you have. Fate brought us together again and I've only ever wanted you since we were teens, but my brother took me away and put me in school. I need you, Christine. Without you is only death!"

I feel the need to repeat my statements on all of the luxury and prominence Raoul has. He has everything I do not: family, title, wealth, friends, a respectable occupation of a gentleman….everything…but it was not enough. He apparently needed me too. I began to think fast. What were these last three weeks going to be like if he were to keep asking? Rejecting him alone was not good enough. He needed more and more…but so long as he left and I left, what more could go wrong?

I pushed his flattery aside and said, "In a month, we shall have to say goodbye forever. Why commit to something that could devastate your name within such a short time?"

"For you, I must! Think not of such details. If they mean nothing to me then what are they to you? Christine," he fell to a knee and held my hand, "I love you. The factors against us are terribly unfair. If you had only noticed me first just think of how different things might have been. I would truly marry you if you would have it, but as you will not, at least give me this small happiness. Be my fiancé. Be my love for a month. It is all I will ever have."

My eyes darted to anywhere but him. Oh, why would he think of such a foolish arrangement? My mind sped ahead. What would be the repercussions of this? Could this not simply be something to give my old friend peace? I must remain true to my husband and to myself. Let Raoul believe what he needs to so that we can both leave.

I sighed, "This must remain our secret."

He stood, "Is that your agreement?"

"Yes," The dry word fell like a stone from my lips, "But I must go now."

"Shall I escort you?"

"No," I replied quickly then recovered, "That would be no good for our secret."

I made a move to step past him, but he kept my hand.

"I shall see you tomorrow." He gently kissed my hand and I felt a small heat in my cheeks.

With a nod, I left for my boarding house.

* * *

 **Entry 42**

It has hardly a week after our secretive game of nothing but empty words. Raoul will wait for me after every rehearsal by my dressing room. Every day, I tell him he must wait outside for me to prepare to leave. I admit, sometimes I take too long. My nerves are getting to me over such simple things as walking. It's awful. When I leave the room, Raoul takes my hand and places it in the crook of his arm. We then walk around the expanse of the opera talking and laughing as if nothing were the matter. Eventually, I note the time and tell him I must leave. He now knows of my temporary accommodations at the boarding house. When I first told him, he was sure to remark how outlandish and barbaric it was for my husband to force me from my home. I was quick to tell him that I preferred my situation if it meant my husband obtaining the peace he needed to work. Raoul said something or another about how he did not need to work as he had a gentleman's status. Oddly enough, knowing how hard Erik had to work just to live in a small house underground, I found myself unable to respect Raoul's position as I once was able to. Raoul was born into everything. Erik, like myself, has experienced so much more of life having to work for it. I could not tell Raoul any of this. Instead, I let him banter about what he believed was best for me.

Today, Raoul declared words from his heart, "I shan't go to the North Pole!"

I had not dared dreamed of this turn of events and immediately felt my throat throb in warning. He took my hands and swore that he would take me away from everything. He would tell no one of the marriage I needed to annul and would make me his legal wife. What words! What betrayal! Was playing not enough for him? …Would anything ever be enough for him?

Sometimes I feel as if I do not have any control over myself. It's as if I'm a puppet being passed from Papa, to Mama, to the Opera, to Erik, and now to Raoul. Such transitions have gone as smoothly as possible despite my inner turmoil, but I somehow tricked myself into believing that Raoul would, in fact, grow tired of me by the end of our strange month. The entire arrangement seemed so childish to me, but I could not say so without him feeling a desire to prove this month was real between us. It appears that I did not have to comment anything. He was already feeling our false understanding.

"What are you to do here when my husband comes to collect me?" I asked him, "We only have a month, Raoul. There is nothing more for us."

"We could run away. You know we could run away. My allowance is enough for us both."

"And what are you to do when that allowance is cut? Do you truly believe your great family would settle for someone as low as myself?"

"I will make them see you are of good character."

Tears pricked at my eyes and I wanted to scream, "But I'm not, Raoul! What woman of good character would agree to what I have?"

I was reaching for something to dab my eyes with when he asked, "Do you love him?"

His words stunned me so quickly that even my tears ceased from falling.

"What?" I asked.

"Do you love your husband?"

My mind went completely blank, "That is…that is private."

"Is it? Is that why you still will not tell me?"

"Yes! Yes, that is private! And I'm done with our game today. I'm leaving now."

My feet moved so quickly beneath me that I was sure I was flying out into the cold wind. A cab happened to be waiting for new riders and I soon found myself inside and moving away. What did love have to do with any of this? Love was hardly important in any of this! Love had gotten me into trouble more than a few times!

* * *

 **Entry 43**

My confused state has now crossed over into my voice. For the past two days rehearsals for the Gala performance for patrons have be running along side those for Faust. One of my pieces will be in the role of Margarita and the other one is Juliet. Whenever I sing, my thoughts are overrun with thoughts of my husband. It has been two and a half weeks since I have seen him. I never thought that he would fill my mind so often when I have done everything I could to keep as busy as possible. My voice has started to become as lost as my heart and today the maestro commented that I needed to focus.

Raoul, too, has said the same thing. He speaks about all sorts of things and yet I find myself hardly being able to listen. He has not mentioned anything about love since the last time I wrote, however, it does not matter. He does not need to say a thing. Every strange silence, every off-putting glance, it all reminds me of the feelings I no longer even know how to possess. Oh, when did I become so heartless? I wonder this every day. I know have a soul. That is a certainty. But what is a soul without a heart within it? What am I now?

Before I left, Erik gave me instructions that if I were to ever need him during our time apart that I could still visit the underground apartment. There is a place where he has set up a bell in the passageway I am meant to use. He told me to pass by one very specific spot where three bricks had been removed near the floor. If I do this, stop, then turn around four times, it will be my signal to him that I am coming.

As I write this my hand shakes. I have already told the headmistress of the boarding house that I will be departing to visit my husband for at least an evening. They are the last two days I will have where I am not required at the opera. When I return, it will be the night of the gala. After that, I must remain here until the performance of Faust. I have told none of this to Raoul. He will be expecting me to meet him later at a park, but I cannot. Something about being out in the daylight and under the eyes of Paris with him is too much. I can't do it. Things will be too real if I am seen with him.

I am not entirely certain why it is that I am going to see Erik and disrupt his work. I suppose it is selfish of me. I fear I am so very selfish sometimes. However, my voice is more or less an extension of Erik. If he were to read that my performance at the gala was anything less than perfect, he would become suspicious. I cannot have that. This is my last time in Paris for however long. I do not want to disgrace him.

Perhaps I will write once I am underground, however, as it is very difficult to have any time to myself when I am with my husband, I feel that this is goodbye for now.

* * *

 **Entries 44 - 46**

 **Entry 44**

It is with great pride that I write to inform you of my success at the gala this evening. However, my time with Raoul afterward was enough to almost place it in shadow….naturally he was upset over my disappearance…I suppose I will get to that eventually. I write with a small candle in the corner of my room even after we have been told to retire for the evening at the boarding house. There is too much to think about and for once, I fully understand just how Erik can never seem to sleep at night. The opportunity to not be interrupted and live in my own thoughts is too inviting.

Once I had reached the underground house by the lake, I was so nervous I thought my teeth would chatter right out of my face. After taking an off-putting breath, I opened the door using the curious contraption near the top of the frame (my husband is not a man to believe in the standard doorknob as he finds them too customary). I moved inside and found the house to be dark with a stale air hanging around me. It was cold as well and I did not feel the desire to remove my coat. Instead, I dumbly stood at the door with a lantern in my hand.

It was not long before I saw two golden eyes standing opposite of me down the hall. My breath caught as my gut clenched. It was like seeing him for the first time. His eyes bore into me and I felt so defenseless, but I could not move. Nor did I want to leave. I had come to him because I needed to be fixed of my inability to keep my voice stable without him. My voice has not been mine for so long. I had to go back.

He was the first to move. His steps were long and fluid and it took no time for him to stand directly before me. The lantern was taken from my hands as he brought it to my face. I looked up and could see the vague outline of his unmasked face through the beam of light that met my eyes. His free hand came to my jaw and was so long that he covered part of my neck as well. His thumb moved from my chin to my lower lip.

"You are real," He murmured.

Not understanding his meaning in the slightest, my brow furrowed and I questioned him, "Erik?"

Oh so casually, he turned the flame down and laughed a little as he did, "Yes, you are real."

As the light went away for good, his hand slipped behind my neck and tilted me up to meet his lips. I gasped and felt a shiver run straight down my back. His arm was soon to catch and pull me even closer to him. I was being crushed to him and the feeling was so freeing that my nerves began to fall away. My arms stretched up to his shoulders and I could feel his heart thudding against my chest. It was then that I really realized I had missed being with him. Something about what was happening felt right. I no longer felt as if I were on my own in anything anymore. He had been down here the entire time only waiting for me to return. My poor estranged husband was still waiting for me no matter what I had done…and well, I am not sure how best to say this and I could never tell anyone…but I believe I could love him…that is…if I do not already love him. Even if I have no heart, perhaps I can remember the feel of his and think that I share some part of it. Maybe that would be enough.

Erik's levels of passion are all consuming. Once I had surrendered to his embrace, I was swept up in something unstoppable. My back was pushed against the door as his hands moved to unbutton my coat. His mouth never left mine and I was taken aback by how forward he was. It was as if there were no time for any sort of propriety at all. His hands slid over my arms as he removed the coat and it hit the floor in a jumbled mess around me. My back was then taken from the door as his finger then went to the trail of buttons that lead from my neck to the small of my back. His mouth moved to my neck once it was exposed and I felt a pressure as he pulled at the most sensitive places under my neck. As my dress was slid from my body and pooled around my feet he pulled me back into his chest and I moaned a little.

His arms encased my shoulders and the small of my back and we merely stood there with my head resting on his chest. The sounds of our breaths were audible and somewhat overwhelming. I wanted him. All of him, but something caught in my throat and I couldn't say it. Before I could begin to think about how I stood in the small entryway clad only in my chemise, boots, and corset, he fully pulled me up into his arms, said nothing, and made his way through the darkness to my bedroom. He stood me beside the bed and within very few silent tantalizing minutes I was completely bare and could feel cold air all around me.

Once bare, I could not feel him and only guessed that he stood somewhere behind me. When he spoke, his voice sounded as if it were all around the room, "I have considered myself a reproached man who could live on music alone, Christine." The sound of my name gave me goosebumps, "And yet your presence pulled me from it faster than I could imagine. Why have you returned to me so soon?"

As if it were not bad enough for him to ask me this at all, he had to strip me to nothing to do it? Was it not enough that I was there? Why did he need to ask me my reasons? There were too many! My arms crossed over my breasts defensively and I made a move to cross my legs as well but was stopped by his hands pulling my arms back to my sides. "None of that, wife," he purred just behind my ear, "What does it matter when we are in such darkness?"

"We both know you can see just fine," I scoffed. He laughed at my expense, but I continued, "My voice is nothing without you. I did not want to embarrass you at the gala. I came back to ask for a lesson beforehand."

"So I am your teacher only?"

"You know you're more than that, Erik," came my impatient reply.

"But you say you have only returned for a lesson."

I shivered against the cool air.

"Very well," he continued, "I will leave you and we can rehearse in an hour."

"Erik," I turned to where I heard him and looked up to his golden cat eyes, "I am your wife!"

One of his eyes narrowed and I took that to be his amusement at my statement, "I am aware."

"What is it that you would like me to say? Your tricks are relentless!" I asked finally crossing my arms and stamping my foot.

He moved his hands in between my arms and my torso and slid them down to my waist so that I could no longer keep my arms crossed. His hands were even colder than the air around me, but the feeling made my skin burn nonetheless. Without much thought, my arms moved to his and I clasped his sleeves. He seemed to register my reaction and smirked, "Are we beyond words then?"

"Erik, why are you playing with me-"

My words were cut short when he kissed me once more on the lips. He pulled my waist to him and I could feel his manhood swelling and hard against my belly. Understanding that his wants were mine, I couldn't help my gasp. He walked me backward until my legs hit the mattress and I was being pushed down by his weight. As one of his hands steadied himself over me on the bed, the other moved over my breast and clutched it. Unconsciously, my body pushed into his hand and his kiss deepened as a result.

Before long, I was being pulled up to lay on the bed entirely. He lay next to his hand and mouth moving from my neck to my breast, lower and lower until he took my womanhood all at once and I moaned as my hands clutched at the pillow behind my head. He took a steady pace that was so slow I thought I would faint from the pressure that was building inside of me. Eventually, words escaped me, "Please, Erik, please,"

He moved away from my womanhood and smoothed my hair away from my face with his free hand, "Then we are not beyond words," he said quietly.

"You're cruel," I said wanting to cry. "You know…you know I want you."

His bare manhood was felt on top of me only for a moment before he slid within me. I moaned and clutched at him, even beginning to move along with him as much as I could. His lips moved under my jaw and the pressure in my lower stomach was inescapable until I finally let go and gave into him completely. He trembled and followed and I felt warm liquid on my inner leg. He moved his lips to my ear and whispered, "You are the most beautiful music, my love."

* * *

 **Entry 45**

The next two days spent with my husband were those wrapped in song and intimacy. Following our forward greeting, Erik instructed that I wash quickly and meet him in the drawing room. Once I had done so and changed into new clothes, he had made a fire and instructed that I stand close to it so that I would not catch a cold. We then proceeded to work on the selections I would be presenting at the gala on the piano. Time is irrelevant when one is surrounded by such music. I made no move to check if it was evening nor did I listen to my stomach when it began to ache for food. There was only my husband and the music.

It may have been evening when I finally began to lean on the sofa for balance. At first, he looked up and appeared ready to reproach me for poor posture, however, as I stood out of breath, he seemed to calm and told me to rest on the couch as he prepared tea. While he was gone, I stared into the flames and began to recount just how different things were when I was with Erik. Time passes in strange ways, music rules all, I have no worries of anything else, and I feel I am always waiting for the next moment Erik takes me to that place where nothing else exists but us. While I would prefer he does such acts without making me speak, I suppose he wants to be sure that I am with him and that I want what he does. I guess that all things considered, that isn't so awful. However, I can't seem to fight the embarrassment that comes with admitting I want him when I feel so vulnerable to succumbing to any physical affection he grants.

Before long, Erik returned carrying a tray of tea, meats, and cheeses. He apologized for not having more to offer saying that his rations are very slim when it is only himself. I thanked him nonetheless and sipped on the black tea. Eventually, I asked of his progress with his opera.

"It is nearly completed," he responded solemnly.

"And what will you do with it once it is?"

"I will place it in a safe location and tell no one else it exists."

"And then…" I stopped myself as I could feel my feelings growing too strong, "And then we will go to Sweden?"

He looked back at me suddenly and replied quietly, "If that is your desire."

The way he phrased his response made me look away, "Is it not what you want too? I…I would not want to make demands if…well if you were to hate it…I suppose I could…"

The tea was taken from my hands and placed on the table before me. I watched as his hands took mine and held them softly. His words seemed to come from a strained place, "Your…concern to my well being is the kindest gift…but it is I that cares so deeply for your happiness. You see, it is not so often that I am able to live in one place without my life being threatened. To move would result in that potentially changing, but if it is what you want…"

"What do you mean?" I asked suddenly, "Are you implying that the move to Sweden would kill you?"

"No. No, dear girl, it is simply that I may need to find other, less supernatural occupations in order for our livelihood to continue as it should."

"Oh Erik, are you concerned for our financial well being? Erik, please, if that is the case, I assure that there are things that I could surely go without. You have been so generous to me with so many things. I have gone without such finery. And I could sing privately to earn money if you wished it."

His head turned to a side a little and I wondered if he was smirking beneath his mask, "I should have stopped you from continuing so long on unnecessary subjects, but you are so pretty when you care even in the slightest for me. My greed for such kindness from you is never quenched. My love, you shall never want for anything. We are in no need for any financial endeavors. I have ensured as much. What I have previously referred to deals only with my inability to go about life with any shred of normalcy. However, as you make me believe I'm a man, perhaps that would be enough."

I felt a prick of tears in my eyes. He wanted so little and in my stupid thoughts, I was sure that him asking for my love was always too much. I began to think of Raoul. Raoul, who had never had such fears of humans, who have never had anyone threaten his life or even had anyone declare he was ever less than a man. Raoul has no idea how much he has. Erik is surrounded by the wealth he has acquired through hard work and great effort. I can hardly even imagine how he was able to build so many delicate instruments down here without anyone else knowing. Others can simply have people transport their goods. Erik seems to not be able to rely on anyone but himself…not even me…and it is difficult not to hate myself for it.

"Erik," I said doing what I could not to cry, "I married you for I knew you to be a man. Please…please don't forget that."

He looked down as if he had difficulty believing me. It hurt me to see him in such a way. I felt the need to do something to prove my point as words appeared useless. Feeling somewhat dramatic, I crossed the sofa and wrapped my arms around his neck taking care not to disturb his mask. When he did not immediately respond I cried into his shoulder, "Erik, hold me."

My words seemed to shake him from his stupor and he quickly took me into his arms by placing me fully on his lap. I looked up to him wondering if such advances from him would continue. He closed his eyes as if strained and let his masked forehead fall to mine. It did not take so long for me to understand. He did want me, but his mask was a constant reminder of everything he was. Very slowly, I brought my hands to his mask and he opened his eyes to look at me. He spoke my name in a broken threat.

"Erik," I said, my hands resting on the sides of his skull, "I know what you look like."

"But not…" he said painfully, "Not like this. I will…I will adjust the light…and then…"

"No," I replied quietly, "I want you to stay here. Please don't move."

"Christine,"

I hushed him as a mother might do and was a little surprised at how calm I was. He shook a little in his hands that clasped tightly to the fabric of my shawl. Slowly, I removed the mask from his face and looked into what I knew all to well was the face I would be with forever. And yet, I could not find the repulsion I used to. He had shown me so much of himself and it was far more brilliant than his extremities. I took a breath, then I kissed his poor thin lips. Before long I could taste the salt from his tears, but I did not let it phase me.

His kiss became more passionate as his hands wrapped into my hair and he crushed me to him forcefully. I readjusted rather forwardly so that I sat fully on top of him with a leg on either side. He responded by moving my skirts up so that all that separated us was the delicate material of my chemise and his trousers. Finding some confidence in this position, I leaned into him on the sofa and pushed myself fully into his chest. One of his hands had found its way to my inner thigh and I went so far as to lean into it. When I did so, I found that it was not his hand at all, but his manhood and he moaned at my touch.

I looked down at him and found his face to be strained. I wondered if he were conflicted about continuing now that I could see him, but I did not allow his thoughts to go too far. My hand, as if on its only volition, went under my skirts and found the buttons on his trousers. Keeping eye contact, I worked somewhat awkwardly to undo each one from its clasp. When my hand made contact with his smooth hard flesh, his eyes closed. My confidence grew and I moved around his member trying to feel exactly what made him a man. In time he painfully uttered my name and I stopped.

Our eyes connected again and I realized I had gained all of the control I could want out of the situation. His eyes pleaded with me and for once I felt powerful that it was him begging for me rather than the other way around. Without breaking eyes, I slowly lifted myself above him then led his member within me using my hand. He moaned my name and I let my eyes close as I relished the feel of him filling me. I began to move above him which led him to clutch my hips with both his hands. Each time I fell to him he gasped as if strained, but I continued. Before too long, I could feel him pushing up into me each time I lowered myself. Our pace quickened and I began to let my body control everything until beads of sweat crossed my forehead. The heat was exhilarating and overwhelming and when I felt him shiver within me just before he pulled me from him, I felt a sense of pride.

Rather than sharing a moment of elation, I saw his eyes fill with tears. He suddenly clutched me to him and sobs racked his body. Words flowed from him as he declared his unworthiness and my goodness. While I did not take heed to his words, I let him speak until he seemed unable to anymore. From there, I cradled his head in my hands and rest mine above him until he was calm once more. When there remained only silence between us, I kissed him on the forehead and readjusted myself so that my head lay on his chest. With my arms wrapped around his chest, I fell asleep.

* * *

 **Entry 46**

The next day I woke up later than usual and took a long bath. Erik had left a note that he had business to attend to that morning and would return a little past noon. I took the time to wander the drawing room and study a bit and browsed through books in various languages. There was a sort of comfort knowing that I would be leaving the cellars soon, but I can't help but remark on a strange feeling of accompanying sadness as well. That world had become a hiding place for me as well. I wonder just how much it will take for both of us to resettle and I wonder what kind of place Erik will choose for us to make a new home in.

Erik returned a little earlier than expected. When he arrived he said nothing. He merely handed me a leather bound folder. Assuming he wanted me to open it, I did so and looked at the documents before me. The first was a train ticket for a first class private cabin to Brussels. This was followed by a note of reservation for what looked to be a fine hotel in the city. Next was a ticket for another first class private cabin from Brussels to Amsterdam. Lastly, a first class ticket from Amsterdam to Stockholm. As realization struck me, I looked up and beamed.

"Erik!" I exclaimed and rose to my feet. With the folder still in my hand, I wrapped my arms around his torso. He slowly reciprocated. I looked up to him, "Thank you. You don't know what this means to me. I haven't been so Sweden in so long. You don't know…Erik, why are only my tickets accounted for?"

"My way of travel is quite different from yours. Fear not. You will not find yourself alone."

Choosing not to try and decipher his words, I lay my face against his chest again, "Thank you. Oh! There's so much to do! Are we to pack ourselves? You have so much more than I do…Would you like me to help you?"

"No, dear girl, no." He said quietly as he stared off into the fire behind me, "I will take care of everything."

"Well, if that's what you insist. Do let me know if you need anything. I can come back again before we open if you need me."

"That is not necessary. I still have work to do without you here. But that is not of consequence at present. We have only a few hours until you're needed upstairs. We should not waste any further time."

Our rehearsing was much more leisure than the previous day. Erik insisted that my fears were completely of my own volition and that all I needed to do was focus and I would be more than fine. I believe he was right. That night at the gala, I soared. I no longer cared about what the crowd thought of me, what the chorus said in cruel whispers, or even what began to be written in the gossip columns. No. None of it mattered. To be honest, for once in my life, I merely sang for myself. I felt like I was to be reconnected with myself in only a weeks time by going back to Sweden. What was the harm in choosing not to live for an angel, a father or a husband, but rather, for once, live and sing just for myself? And it was wonderful.

All too soon did I realize I was back in a world that I couldn't seem to take any control over. After my performance, Raoul found me behind the scenes and appeared as if he had seen a ghost. His words were frantic and so desperate. I pulled him into my dressing room so that others might not see his fit and spread more gossip. It was then that he threw himself on his knees and told me that he would leave with navy as he said he would, but that I could not leave him for one more hour than what was promised to him. He reached for me and when I thought that I might reach back in order to help him stand, he pulled my hands and I tumbled to the floor where he caught and held me to him.

I was still. This time would pass, I told myself, he needs comfort before he goes into a rage. What led him to this outburst? His strength around me faded a bit and I was able to pull from him to look him in the eyes. He asked me where I had been for the past two days.

"Raoul…I needed to go back."

"You told me you would be away from him for a month. This was to be my month, Christine!" His arms trembled as he spoke.

"My voice…you don't understand. He is my voice."

"You were with him…" He continued, "You were with him and you didn't even tell me. You left me and I feared I would never see you again!"

"I told you-"

"It means nothing!"

"Raoul, please -"

"I am jealous! I am jealous! I am jealous!" he cried out and I had to cover his mouth.

I brought myself close to him and whispered, "You should be more careful with your volume. He is a great listener and I fear what he will do if he finds you in here with me alone."

Raoul's hands were behind my head and neck so fast. He had already removed my hand from his mouth and brought me closer to him. I was still in shock.

"He gets you all to himself for days when I must pine for minutes. This existence is torture. I do not care that he is your husband. I love you and you love me. That is all that should matter now." In a fit of passion, he crushed his lips to mine making me gasp in surprise. He took the advantage of my open mouth and pressed his lips even closer to mine. For a moment, I merely thought of how much fuller his lips were, how much warmer his skin was. Then I thought of how he had not asked me if I had wanted what he was taking. He did not sing to me to ease my nerves. He did not make a commitment. There was nothing indeed that he gave me to be given this from me.

The surprise the first wave of emotion to strike me. It was quickly followed by guilt, fear, then surprisingly, anger. His arms did not control his strength. His lips were too fluid and his mustache had oil that didn't sit well on my top lip. There was nothing the matter with him whatsoever. If this had been my first kiss, I may have enjoyed it for I would not have known any better, but he was not anything that I was used to. There were no similarities and it perplexed me that this could be the same act at all. As his affection advanced and his hands on my forearms brought me even closer to him, I could not suppress the sob that came from my throat as I pushed him away with every ounce of might I could muster.

I stood quickly and crossed the room as I sought strength in leaning on the wall opposite of him. He soon followed and was standing in the center of the room staring at me with hurt in his eyes. Too many thoughts clouded my head. Too many feelings overwhelmed my being. I was so sure that I finally had a grasp on what was to come and who I needed to be. I had plans in order and I had every desire to fulfill them, but in that one foolish act by Raoul, I fear all of that is in danger. Finally, I spoke and cut through the thick silence, "You should have known better."

"You make me a fool whenever I cross you! It is love that I profess! Why would you flee when you know my feelings and I know yours as you say?"

"You do not know what you have done." He tried to speak and I cut him off again, "I must change and you must go. If I am late to my home there will be trouble."

"Christine-"

"I am sure I will see you tomorrow," my tone was clear and stricken with anger, "but there is no more tonight for us. Goodbye."

With a sigh, he left. As soon as the door closed, I collapsed into a heap of sobs. This was too much. Everything was too much. What am I to do and oh! If Erik had seen! What he might do! I wanted to cry until I passed out, but the time on the clock told me I had only half an hour to return to the boarding house before the madam informed my husband of tardiness. That would not do. I could not be caught now. With shaking legs I stood and began to put on my furs for the cold night. Before I left, I couldn't help but notice a single red rose on my vanity. A note beneath it read,

 _Paris will sorely miss you. They will curse themselves for ever treating you poorly. Tonight you triumphed. -E_

I held the note and flower to my chest the entire way back. My tears were ever present on my face each time the wind blew.

* * *

 **A/N: I would loooooove to know your thoughts on these entries. Really. I'm not sure how I feel on them. I do know where we're going though so at least that's a thing... Not going to lie, these chapters started to break my heart for Christine. She's really in over her head with everything and Erik is not going to take her time away from him well :*(**

 **Unrelated - I'm currently reading a fic on here called "The Music Of The Night" by phantomfluffandstuff . This story is regularly updated and is very unique and AU. I regularly review and would love to see more people showing it some love. The link is here: s/11818076/1/The-Music-of-the-Night**


	15. Entry 47

**So...for any of you who were worried that things were going TOO well for Erik and Christine...our fanale approaches...and it's about to get daaaaaark...**

* * *

 **Entry 47**

There was so much that happened in only a few hours. I will do my best to write everything down. Currently, such an experience may be sealed in my memory forever, but I cannot be so sure. As for where I stand on the matter, I feel surer of myself than I ever have in recent memory…but arriving at that sort of certainty was no simple task. No…not at all. Following my last entry, I quickly dressed and slipped out the back door of the boarding house before the women woke up to cook breakfast. When the door closed behind me I had a strange overwhelming feeling that what I was about to do would mean never returning. I would be dishonest if I were to say I did not enjoy my time with the other young women at the house. They were so far removed from the backstage life of the Opera. I had to explain to them the simplest of aspects and they would often times become wide-eyed as I answered their questions. They found me interesting and did not judge or insult my lacking knowledge of simple house chores. I could not say that I felt particularly close to any of them, but I did enjoy their company very much.

My entire body held a strange numbness to it. My mind resoundingly shook it awake from adrenaline as my shoes hit the cobble stone streets and sidewalks in my pursuit. The sun would be showing in less than an hour at that point and I had not slept all night…but despite everything, I was wide awake. I felt alive, even. Something within me was forcing me to go towards a kind of purpose that I was uncertain how to properly put into words. The Opera came into view and my pace quickened. I used the strange passageways I had been instructed to use, opened the old rusty iron gate, and down once more to my old dungeon did I go.

Just before I entered my old home, I stopped to listen. Was it possible that my husband was still awake writing the last notes to his _Don Juan Triumphant_ before retiring his magnum opus to a hidden place of dust and stone forever? I pressed my ear to the door. Everything appeared deathly quiet inside. A feeling of discomfort washed over me and I cannot explain exactly why. It was as if the energy from what was to come was already seeping into my skin, but I did not know it then. Taking a large breath that shook my muscles awake with that same uneasy adrenaline once more, I pulled the hidden latch and set the opening of the door in motion.

As I stepped inside, I moved to set my lantern on a nearby table so that I could hang up my coat by the door, however, the first thing I knew to be off was that the table was missing and I nearly dropped the lantern to the floor. Part of me wondered if he had already sent it to where ever we were going. That was a hopeful possibility. As it was just as cold inside as it had been the last time I returned, I decided it would be best to keep my coat on until a fire could be started. One step forward and I found the table blocking my feet. It was laying on the floor, its black marble top had been shattered.

My heart rate quickened at the thought of how much force would be needed to crack marble on the floor. Without much more thought I called out to Erik…and heard nothing in reply. After a moment of hesitation, I decided that it would be better to move forward. Perhaps he was out somewhere and would be returning shortly? My mind told me such pretty things to avoid what was about to unfold before me. I kept thinking that if I could only start a fire and turn on the gas lamps that everything could be as good as it ever could be. Perhaps the table was an accident? It had to have been. I could have easily cleaned it up so that Erik would not need to worry about it. At least I was good enough for that.

But it was not just the table that had been destroyed.

 _It was the entire house._

The lantern continuously scathed my vision with imagery that scared and stunned me. First, there was the Drawing Room. Books were lying everywhere. It was impossible to step without stepping on scattered pages and titles written in so many languages. My cross-stitching stand was in pieces near the fire place. The contents of my sewing box made a line of colorful threads as if the box had exploded. The ottoman was upside down on the opposite side of where it used to be, the sofa was on its side with two of the legs being nothing but splintered wood, and Erik's chair was on its head on top of the ottoman. Even the piano, the beautiful instrument that Erik could play so lovingly, we pushed up against the bookshelf with such force that one of its legs had snapped and it sat at an angle near the floor. The chaos was enough to make hot tears sting my eyes, but I could not move to brush them away.

"Erik!" I cried out in terror, but still, I heard nothing.

I ran to my room and more disarray met my eyes. The vanity was turned over the mirror smashed. Makeup, combs, and brushes were all under the mess and some powders had spilled making parts of the floor look covered in snow. Angry shards of glass were everywhere and I was afraid to step in even with my boots on. The chest of draws was over turned over as well and some of the draws had been thrown across the room. Oddly enough, the bed was untouched. It looked like an island in the middle of a churning sea of destruction. My hand rose to my mouth as I suppressed a cry.

Lastly, I moved to Erik's room. The last time I had been inside his room was during our days of singing _Don Juan_. It was enough to make me never want to enter again. A chill traveled up my back at the thought. My curiosity eventually got the better of me for I eventually found myself inside, my lantern clutched tighter than necessary as I feared that somehow it too would become smashed leaving me in the terrible world of hidden broken glass.

His room was for the most part untouched. Erik, not finding it necessary to collect too many impractical items (besides his fondness for the dramatic) for his personal space. Papers were littered over much of the floor, but they were blank. I shined my light over to where I knew the organ to be and found Erik. His thin body was hunched over the instrument, hi awful opera collected and tied up before him on the mantle. An awful thought passed me when I did not see him move. Could this be it? Was this was he meant? Was this how he intended to seal his work? With his body?

I began to feel faint, but I had to keep talking myself out of hysterics. I had to know for sure. As I approached, I saw Erik's ribs slowly moving in and out from within his shirt with sleeves that had been shoved up his thin arms. I wanted to slap my own hand at my having jumped to conclusions. He was not dead, merely asleep at his place of work. That should not have been so unsettling. The closer I stepped, the more I began to realize that him being alive did not make him as steady as I would have hoped. My light shined on his long bare thin hands that rested under his head. My awful feet brought be forward beyond reason. I had to know for sure.

He lay unmasked. I gulped. Not at his face…but the blood. _Oh_ , so much blood covered his face and I realized that was what had been shining slightly on his hands. He had been clawing at his face. Great sadness washed over me. What had led him to do this? He must have been in so much pain and then only to pass out alone! Guilt then waved over me. Whatever the reason - and I foolishly could not fathom the reason truly being me - I felt terrible that he would not want to reach out to me. How often had he seemed me in such an awful state only to sing to me and play the violin until I was peaceful again? How awful was I to not have been able to return the favor?

After I set the lantern down on the organ as carefully as I could, I took a breath before steadily saying Erik's name. At first, he did not stir. I placed a light hand on his shoulder. That was enough. Without warning he had taken my wrist captive and walked me back into the wall, his arms on either side of me, one of them still painfully pinning my hand. I yelped in surprise and he seemed to register who I was even in the dim lighting. He said nothing, only continued to stare at me with golden fiery eyes. I began to feel them boring into me, threatening to catch my very soul on fire. My eyes winced when he gripped my wrist tighter.

Minutes passed between us until I could not stand it any longer. I called to him. He only tilted his death's head in response as if he didn't understand his own name. The pain in my wrist was becoming unbearable and I then clutched his hand with mine, "You're hurting me, Erik!" His eyes narrowed and suddenly I was cast to the floor only to be left to watch him walk away. I scrambled to my feet and went after him. My hands reached out to his arms, but he turned before I could touch him. The look in his eyes was enough for me to lower my attempted embrace.

"Erik," I asked desperately, "Please, tell me what is wrong. Your face it's-"

"Horrendous." He snarled.

"No, it's bleed-"

I was cut off again as he rounded on me.

"Not fit for you I'd imagine? Not as pretty as your young man? I've seen enough of you tonight. Get out."

"Erik, I just got here," I said timidly, hurt had made me frail. Didn't he want me? How? How, how, how? He began to walk out of the room once again and I caught up. When I reached out again he caught my wrist and pushed me into the hallway wall.

"Try and touch me again I'll snap your hand in two."

My gasp was inaudible. My body was frozen. Why would he say something so cruel? When I found my footing again, I raced back into his bedroom to pull out the lantern. I would find him. I would get him to talk to me. I had to. There was something so very wrong and I knew that if I could only get him to listen to me that everything would be fine again. We could go to Sweden just like we planned. Everything would be well.

Doing what I had to not to fall over papers and rumble, I all but ran to find him. When I did, I was genuinely afraid. He stood with his back to me as he stared just over the empty mantle of the fireplace. His body was tall and stiff and he appeared to be staring at nothing. I began to tremble. What had I gotten myself into? Why did I come down at all when I hadn't announced that I would? This was why he didn't want me or anyone else down here. He had turned into a monster.

Holding the lantern out before me as a helpless kind of shield, I called out to him once more. "Erik, please, you must tell me what's wrong. Your face, Erik, it's bleeding. Let me help you-"

"You've helped enough," he growled long and low.

Tears began to fall from my eyes and I cried, out, "Erik, please, why must you be so cruel?"

All too suddenly, he turned to face me in full and I was transfixed once more.

" _I_? _Cruel_? You certainly are a curse to say that to me."

"Why would you…" My words fell out over my bubbling tears, "Erik, I…don't you want to know why I came here?"

"You remain a fool." He took a closer look at me, going so far as to lean in a little too close the distance. His hands were in fists and they began to shake so terribly that his entire arms trembled along with them. "Always crying," He muttered right before he grabbed the handle of the lantern from my hands and proceeded to throw it into the fireplace. There was a loud boom as the flame hit the oil all at once and I screamed. I stood, transfixed, as the flames licked hungrily at the stones of the hearth and all too quickly they were extinguished.

Complete darkness.

And surrounded by the world that I could no longer recognize.

The next time I heard Erik, his voice seemed to come from behind me.

"My little wife is scared," he seethed, mockery laced within his tones.

"Erik-"

When he spoke again I could feel his breath on my right ear, "You've said enough. Enough! Enough! Enough! How I would capture that day in my mind forever if only your pretty tongue were cut out and your lies would be gone for good!" My breath caught and he whispered, "So you have been lying to me…Oh, so you have my little wife. You forget that Erik is everywhere. He is both phantom and angel and he is everywhere and sees _everything_."

Impulsively and beyond my control, a small whimper escaped me. His long chilling hand was around my throat at once and pulled my back forcefully to his chest. I remarked just how tall I had known him to be. His chest was so thin, angular form his protruding ribs. My head barely reached his neck and I began to hopeless. His fingers were taught and sinister in their caress of my throat. His thumb methodically made circles just under my jaw. It was both threatening and somewhat sensually provoking and I stay very still. His other hand slowly cupped my limp hand before running rapturously slow up my arm, across my sensitive bosom, and down to my waist where he encircled me in a lean, but powerful embrace. I was shivering, but my body was recklessly scolding from where his hand had been.

He made a move as if to lock me in place tightly against him and I gasped. I was being driven back to the time of _Don Juan_ where I wanted to both scream in horror and submit to whatever possessive sensitivity that led him to write such a horror. My mind reeled and he lowered his head to where I could feel him leaning his bare cheek just above my ear. He whispered, "You know I have always loved your lovely hair, my dear. I recognize how unfair it must be for me appreciate such aspects of your physical charms when I have none to offer you. Despite my efforts to love you simply for what is within you, I cannot seem to pardon my attraction to more feminine traits." His lower hand moved slowly from my waist to my hip, my thigh, and rested atop my womanhood. I gasped and a powerful shiver ran up my spine.

"Tell me, my love," He managed to say even more quietly and yet I could understand every word all too well, "Do you tremble only from fear? You see, in my most secret of desires, I have wished that there may have been times, perhaps too few and far between for me, but enough I'm certain for you, that you may have come to allow such actions from me for the similar reasons I seek them out from you. And yet, I will readily admit I am a selfish and damaged man. Will you admit such faults of your own perfect self? Is it so possible that your worldly outer charms have affected me so brilliantly that they masked the evil within? Perhaps if that is the case I should remove such things."

The hand around my neck moved up suddenly and wrapped into my hair and pulled my head back. My held breath released as there was a feeling of strange unexplainable pleasure in such a harsh move. Before me, his eyes gleamed in the darkness. Oh my, how is that ever possible? He is surely a man, but what explanation can account for such eyes glowing as they do? Such angry, immense, and catching eyes…I was drowning. The cold waters of the lake were threatening once again to pull me under and Erik stood before me ready to watch. I had come to him for I wanted him so strongly and fear began to grow within me that he no longer could stand the same. My head was near plunging under a terrifying surface forever and I called out to him once more, "Erik, please, I came here to-to-"

Oh, why were my words getting so caught up in my throat? Why was it so difficult to tell him anything when I knew it my heart for it to be true? When I could not speak fast or eloquently enough, he pulled my head back further and our faces aligned only breaths apart. I was on my toes and he held me still in that strong terrible and wonderful hold. For a moment, I thought I saw the similar desire in his eyes. I truly thought that we were finally of one mind, but it was not to be. He threw me away and my feet collided with something on the floor that made me fall. I looked back to see his eyes flash a sort of concern only to look away and cross to the other side of the room.

"You know little of who I truly am, Christine," he said very business like, "You might believe me to be all emotion without control of it, but I assure you, I am not that man. I have been _kind_ to you. I took you in when you had nowhere else to go. I gave you a voice that has melted all other expectation in this city. Your many clothes, ribbons, and pretty things were gifted to you by _me_. Legally and spiritually, you are mine and yet," he stopped short and looked back at me, "And yet, I find you in the arms of another."

"Erik-" I tried to explain.

"SILENCE!" He boomed and began to cross slowly back to me. I had not left the flood and he was all too terribly tall before me, "I gave you your voice and I will demand it back as I see fit. I am no fool, Christine! Do you believe me so dull as to not know of your pitiful play at engagement with the young Viscount de Chagny?"

Tears stung my eyes as I dared to cut him off, "If you would only listen-"

He was on me without warning, his hand wound up in my hair and lifting my face so close to his. "I've told you I have always admired your hair, but god damn you if you think that I'm not beyond yanking it all out if it would only get you to shut that precious and disastrous mouth."

Feeling I had no defense left, I began to unabashedly sob. If only he knew! He was not listening to me! I so wanted to tell him how awful the month away from him had been! Oh, why wouldn't he allow me to say just one thing?

"Am I hurting you?" he asked as if confused. His hand lightened its hold, but remained in my hair, "No…No I do not mean to…I…" He seemed to be at war with his only thoughts for a moment. I wanted to scream out all of my hidden thoughts, but all I could do was mourn my poor sad situation. He continued painfully, "It is not…that I wish to harm you…no, no, I…I yearn for you to feel something for me. To feel _anything_." I heard him fall to his knees as his hands cupped both sides of my face, "Why do you cry? You know it gives me pain to see you cry!"

Tentatively, I placed my hands over his. Perhaps if words no longer did any good, touch might. I felt him shutter as I laced my fingers around his over my face. Part of me wondered if he too was crying. Slowly, very slowly as to not break our connection, I ran my hands up his arms as he had done with me earlier. He was very still, his eyes locked with mine. The sensation of drowning was ever present, but I felt that if I could only hold on to him that my head might stay above the metaphysical water. Gingerly, my hands moved over his shoulders until I too cupped his face. He hissed as I did and I remembered the gashes there and even was able to feel the dried blood under my fingers. Rather than be repulsed by the gore of it all, I new wave of tears filled my eyes.

"You're hurt," I stumbled out.

"Consistently," he retorted but did not move his face away from my hands.

Understanding his pain went beyond his outer scars, I whispered, "I wish you wouldn't. I would never wish you to hurt, Erik."

His eyes narrowed, "Pray tell, why do you say such pretty things only to do others? My hurt has been caused by you only."

"If we might only talk, I can explain-"

He pulled his hands from my face and in doing so, my hands could no longer reach his.

"I do not believe I want to hear shallow sensitivities from you."

"They are not-"

"What must I do to make you leave?" He bellowed, "You were not meant to be here now! I was going to wait to bring you here at the proper time. Go above, Christine! Go above and sing one last time, for I swear to you it will be the last time for everything."

"What do you mean?" I asked attempting to straight up as he had already stood.

"You must sing," He said spastically, "You must rise to heaven. From there I will snatch you and drag you down to Hell for all of Paris to see!"

Within a fraction of a second, I suddenly found myself thinking very clearly. I would get my say in. I would make him understand just how wrong he was. Finally, I stood.

"Husband," I said as confidently as I could muster, "You need not snatch me for I am here. I came to you. I wished only for you to be some sort of stability for I feel I have none. Erik, please, I…"

My cool expression of words began to fail me. I needed him to listen to me. I needed him to understand just how deeply honest I was. I stretched shaking fingers out into the black void between us and walked towards his eyes. Paper slid and crunched over my feet and it felt as if such simple sounds were strong enough to cause landslides. My finger tips soon felt his torn and wrinkled shirt. When I knew him to be close enough, I gripped at that shirt as one might a life preserver in troubled waters. Crushing the rest of my body to him and holding tight I said hopelessly into his hard chest, "Erik, please, _please_ , hold me. You're my everything-"

"Lies-" he rasped.

"No." I held so desperately to him that my fingers shook, "Not lies. I swear, Erik. I swear on my beloved father's life that I am not lying."

"Beloved," he commented vaguely, "I understand little of that word from you."

Finally drawing the little courage I had remaining, I looked up to his blazing eyes and began to feel that I was drowning no more. His eyes were so much of my world. They were not there to destroy me, no, if they were there at all before me they would always save me. I smiled despite my despair, "Erik, I lo-"

A terrifyingly loud bell rang all through the house. I screamed and covered my ears instinctively. Erik tensed and stood at alert, the moment was gone. All gone. Dashed. He took my forearms in his hands and stood me up straight at length before him. My hands could no longer reach him. I could no longer reach him.

He laughed oddly and I saw his head turn to the side, his eyes sparkled with something I dared not place.

"Wait," he said all too strangely, "I think my dear, we have a guest."

* * *

 **A/N: Points for those who caught the ALW musical references in this chapter ;) Double points if you review them! But really...**

 **My excuse for not updating sooner has to do with a new author I am kinda sorta obsessed with...if you haven't read any of Tara1189 (also on my favorite author's list now) you now have plenty to read until my next update. Personally, _Forget-Me-Not_ is still my favorite story of hers, but there are plenty to choose from and I've yet to get through them all. I wanted to give her a shout out as her prose inspired me to better mine...I hope you noticed a little?**

 **From here on out, the singular entries will be getting longer on their own. Without spoiling too much, I can say that where Christine writes from is a safe place where she has plenty of time...**

 **HUGE thank you to my reviewers from the last chapter. cassious Mominator124 Amplesound Ghostsballad ArmedfortheKing cassjoty It-is-I-a-Simple-Bagel Rainbow Pierrot Not A Ghost3 MyNina Silver Tallest "Guest" and even Child of Dreams - I appreciate your ongoing reviews even if you hate my characters ;)**

 **YOU inspire me to keep this up!**


	16. Entries 48-50

**Entries 48-50**

 **Entry 48**

Erik left me for a time. I am still uncertain just how long he was away. It was long enough for me to go from pacing the floor, to kneel upon the wreckage that was what was left of the comfort I had learned to find in that house, to eventually picking items up and attempting to straighten them. By that time, I had already prepared a fire to warm the house and lit every lamp I could find. If I ever have to wonder in such pitch black darkness again it will always be too soon.

I started tidying up my room. It was the only place I could go to for a moment of peace. I had to shake off every item of clothing that had been thrown around in fear that some of the glass from the shattered mirror may have been caught in the delicate fabrics. The room itself had always been covered with a large plush carpet with hand woven designs of ribbons and simple flowers. It was far nicer and intricate than anything I would ever choose for myself, but I feel that Erik saw it and felt that such an item would make me happy. As the carpet was tucked up under the bed, I was unable to lift it to beat the tiniest of shards out. The larger ones were of little concern and were the first to be trashed, but the little ones were likely waiting for my first mistake to be made… I made a mental note not to walk barefoot ever again.

Once I had done all I could possibly do, the room still did not look quite the way it had and I did not feel comfortable staying in it for long. It was as if it had been forever scarred by Erik's rage and the feeling of home was slowly disappearing for me even as I refused to admit it to myself then. With the weariness of possessing no sleep the night before finally catching up with me, I tried to suppress it be moving to the Drawing Room. I surrounded myself with what I thought I might be able to manage but did not get so far as I wanted in the pursuit of cleaning. In no time at all my arm was over the bottom side of the overturned sofa and my head lay upon it. I'm not sure how long I was asleep.

Through my dreariness, I heard Erik enter, but he did not come from the front door, rather, he seemed to have come from _my_ room. He found me surrounded by piles of books that I had started to stack on the floor. I was trying to organize them by languages I could understand and perhaps organize alphabetically for him, followed by books written in what I imagine was Russian and Persian. While I heard him approach, I was not yet confident enough to stray from my task. At least this allowed for me to focus on something - _anything_ \- other than continuing our previous entanglement.

His question caught me off guard, "What are you doing?"

My hands quivered a moment as I paused, but then continued with a sigh, "I thought I would clean up. You have been gone awhile."

"Why bother?" he asked bitterly making me turn back to him.

"All your nice things," I said sadly, "I wanted to help put them back the way they were."

His eyes drifted over our surroundings and he stated evenly, "This room is broken beyond repair."

I gulped, "Not…everything."

He crossed his arms, "Ever the optimistic, aren't you? I feel a need to broaden your horizons even if only for a few hours."

The realization that we were apparently still in an argument hit my chest and I looked down in sorrow. I began to wish that Erik had never needed to finish the opera. I wished that he would have allowed me to stay so that we could simply be together and that Raoul would not have been able to catch me. Even with all of the simple lovely things that had happened in my absence such as learning using skills at the boarding house or walking in nearby parks in the sunshine suddenly seemed so pointless if they meant my husband no longer caring for me as he once did.

I needed to change the subject.

"What was that loud noise, Erik?" I asked as kindly as I could, "I believe you mentioned a guest?"

Something behind his eyes began to dance. "Ah, yes, two in fact," he answered nonchalantly.

"Two? Are they…Where are they?"

"I expect they will be along shortly," Was his finalizing reply.

My eyes returned to the stacks of books I had surrounded myself with. It was like a little wall that stood hopelessly between us. I had to admit that he had a point. There was no way that I could undo the level of damage that had fallen to this room. It would require more than adhesive and organization. Curiosity grew within me once again and I asked, "Do you not believe your guests will find our surroundings concerning?"

"They are guests. It is not for them to decide how one makes their home. Besides, they are only welcome in the chamber I led them to. You will see."

My brow furrowed. What other areas were there besides the ones I had already seen? And why had he seemed to have entered from my room when I knew he could not have been in there while I was cleaning? There were so many questions and my confusions were beginning to ache in my head. Feeling that my efforts had been in vain, I stood and brushed off my skirts. He continued to watch me without words and I felt like a flightless bird that had been caged. Finally, I drove myself to meet his eyes. He still wore no mask and his face was still a mess. Feeling that there was at least something I could do to ease the tension, I went to the kitchen, found a clean cloth, poured water over it and brought it back to Erik. He stayed still as I held the rag out between us.

"Your face must be in pain," I tried to reason, "Please…"

He made no move, "You forget of my inner turmoil without there being blood on my hands - my own blood on my hands and face - unless it is made clear to you. You do not get the pleasure of watching me remove it for you so you can act as if it were never there."

"Then allow me to help you. Erik, I'm… worried you might get an infection or a sickness without doing something."

"Pretty words are still only words," he said in a sing-song tone.

"They're not just…" Anger began to grip me, "You're not thinking rationally. I said I'm here to help you. I said-"

"You've helped enough." His eyes flashed back to me and then away again, "For now. What does blood matter when it will all be over soon?"

"Oh, Erik, talk sensibly, please!"

A sly half-smile crossed his thin lips, "I was very sane for you for a long time. Looking back, I do not believe it was the best decision. How I wanted to make you happy. Everything was for you, but now… Now, I believe I will get something I need in return. You'll see, my little wife. You'll see."

Pushing his odd words away from any clear thought, I stepped forward, cloth before me, and reached to his face. Instinctively, he stepped back as if I were to hurt him. A throb passed my eyes, but he did not seem to notice or care. "Erik," I whispered and he did not look back to me. Instead, he began to walk to his room.

"The time is not right," he grumbled, "Things are not in place as they should be. You will remain out here and leave me for I am unready to have you know what is to happen. I recant my offer for you to leave. I daresay you're very trapped with me now and I'll leave you to think over that. Do what you will, Christine. Our grand finale is coming."

"Erik?" I asked unsure of anything he meant.

He turned back to me and his head slowly turned as his eyes narrowed. All too quickly, I began to feel as if I were prey and he the hunter. What was he thinking that required him to stand with shaking shoulder as his eyes locked with mine? He made a step towards me and against my better judgment, I took a step back. I heard him click his tongue as his head began to shake from side to side.

"She will leave…" he mumbled and I was confused as to whether he meant me or not, "She will leave and no one will stay if she leaves. She must stay for everyone to be dead and buried."

I gasped. _Dead and buried_?! He looked up and before I could move back again he had me by the wrists, pulled them behind my back, and held them with the stone grip of one hand. I cried his name out of fear and he began to pull me back towards a closet I had never known about in the hall. A door appeared and with his other hand, he began to search for something. I decided it would be in my best interest to remain silent. I could not see what he had gotten from the closet, but he must have found it for I was suddenly lurched forward towards my bedroom.

As we stood over the bed, my mind began to reel, but I remained as quiet as I could save my scattered breaths. He never came into my room unless…unless… Did he mean to sleep with me _now_? I shivered and he seemed to take no notice. Something rough was being wrapped around my wrists and I tried to turn back to him to see.

"There, there, little wife," he said with false care, "You needn't worry of what I am doing. It is all for you. Always for you, my love."

His hands left my wrists and I found them bound together. I cried, "Erik, wh-why have you bound me?"

He was lowering himself to my ankles and I lunged forward. What did he mean to do with me all tied up? Flashes of cold black water crossed my mind and fear gripped me all too completely. Before I could attempt to crawl across the bed away from him, he pulled me over his shoulder and quickly dropped me on the bed. My arms ached at having to lay beneath the weight of my chest. When I sloppily sat up, he pushed my chest down into the mattress with only one hard hand. As I was locked in, I felt him begin to skillfully tie my ankles together with his other hand. Hot tears streamed down my face, "Erik, please don't do this, please. I had no intention of leaving I swear, I swear! Please, Erik, I won't run away, please don't do this!"

My cries did not affect him and he soon straightened to observe his work. Sobbing freely, I looked up to him, "Please, Erik, please d-don't."

"Now I know you will stay here." he whispered assuredly.

"I would stay here without-"

"You words are poison to any man who ever dared to listen."

I screamed, "No…p-please!"

His hands fell on either side of my head and when I looked up, his face was all I could see. All I could do was cry which I knew did not help my case with him. He stayed just above me and we simply breathed each other in until his eyes turned from hurt to compassionate. He whispered, "You have been so beautiful for me here. If you would only stay here and be beautiful forever with no words of deceit. Would it surprise you that all I wanted was to be loved for myself? If you could only love me you would see. I should be as gentle as a lamb, and you could do anything with me that you please."

If only he would allow me to tell him!

"Erik-"

"No," he growled, "No. No! NO! I will not hear whatever it is you think you need to say to get away from me! You gave me hope, Christine! And such impossible feelings for a man like me are dangerous. You leave me no choice, my dear. I will do what I must and there will be a requiem this city has never before witnessed! And when history recounts what happened it is not my name they will say, no, no my love. You see, I give all of myself to see you be remembered. When the pious morn their beloved, it will be your name they will curse. Now," he straight up and kissed me quickly on the forehead as a parent might, "You will stay here and await my return. Sleep it you can, but I assure you it will not be needed soon. Sleep will come for us all very soon."

With that, he left. His words! His words! I feared what focusing on their meaning would do to my mind's poor state and I was so awfully tired. My mind strained to try and see the good of my terrifying situation. At least, I remarked to myself, he wants me to stay with him again. I would have to consider my small achievement and work with what I could. Just as my eyes had begun to shut as I lay on the bed, I heard a crash behind my head.

It sounded as if it were coming from behind the wall and I nearly shot up in surprise (if only I were not bound) ready to call Erik. There was some shuffling and it seemed as if the wall was so thin that whatever it was behind me could have been in the same room alongside me. I waited another moment to listen and it sounded as if two figures were shuffling around on a dirty floor. My breath nearly choked me when I heard Raoul's voice, "What is the matter, sir?"

My eyes all but left my face and my jaw was far lower than I was used to. I listened further in stillness and shock. Fear began to overtake me and I moved painfully against the ropes on my wrists and ankles. What was he doing down there with me and so very close? How had he found the way and what part was he in that I had never been aware of? There was stillness for a long time from both of us until I gathered the courage to whisper Raoul's name.

"Christine!" he cried desperately, "Christine!"

"Monsieur!" Some one hissed at him.

"I am dreaming!" I said quietly, begging for the scenario to go away. This could not happen!

"Christine, Christine," Raoul said gently, "It is I, Raoul!"

I was speechless.

"But answer me, Christine! In Haven's name, if you are alone answer me!"

My lips spoke Raoul's name, but my eyes slowly crept to the door. Even saying his name felt like an act of betrayal.

"Yes! Yes!" Raoul responded hopefully, "It is I! It is not a dream! Christine, trust me! We are here to save you, but be prudent! When you hear the monster, warn us!"

Monster. He was referring to Erik. Erik…a monster…no, he…he was my husband. A man. Who had tied me up… Raoul knew so little. My mind went to our last encounter with one another. His lips had sought mine even when he knew me to be married. He was so vastly different from Erik and perhaps if we had not met first, his jealousy wouldn't have been so over powering. But then…I had played along in his mind. Even if we're only to satisfy him long enough to ultimately leave me alone, I was not strong enough to tell him no.

How very weak I felt! What had I been reduced to when I was on my own? Perhaps I am not meant to ever be on my own and I am ashamed to admit such a poor quality about myself. I have never been strong, or proud, or anything that a diva might be. What was I doing? How had my life become what it was with everyone seeing me and no one wishing to care for me? No one but…

My eyes sting as I write this. I need to stop for right now.

 **Entry 49**

I have taken a day to attempt to comfort myself. These entries are not so easy to write, but I fear that if I do not do something to release these scenes and feelings that I'll surely go mad. I feel there is no one who would want to speak of them with me that is still alive. My dear mama…how I still miss you with every passing day. How things would have been different if you had only been able to hold on to life a little longer! But then…it is selfish to ask such things of the dead. They no longer feel any pain as they are assuredly are in Heaven. Pain seems to be reserved for the living and the damned… I fear I am both.

Back in the bedroom under the Opera, I finally told Raoul that Erik had retired to his room and left me alone.

"That is not so far from us. I have been to his house before," whispered another man in a foreign accent.

I asked who the other man was.

"I am an old friend of your husband, Madame. My name is Nadir Khan."

 _The Persian!_ A friend of Erik's? How strange all of this was! I found myself having so many questions for this man. I wanted to ask them all without reason. Had Erik a _friend_? And the estranged Persian, no less! There was so much left to the unknown! And these were the guests Erik was referring to?

"Where are you?" I asked.

"It would appear to be a smaller replica to a torture chamber Erik built in Persia," M. Khan exclaimed, "Madame it is imperative that you help us."

Torture…chamber? Oh, God! A torture chamber? Behind my headboard? I began to feel faint. What did Erik want with a torture chamber? And how had Raoul and this man found themselves inside?

"Is there a door, Christine?" Raoul asked breaking up where my thoughts were heading.

I moved my head around and saw none…until I looked up into the farthest corner of the room to see a small hole near the ceiling. Similar to other doors in the house, but out of my reach, there may have been a lock inside. There would be no knob, only a lock to undo. I cursed myself to only have noticed it then when it had surely been there all along.

"There must be a door hidden in the wall," I told them quietly.

"Madame, it is absolutely necessary that you should open that door to us!" The Persian's response was immediate.

"Oh, if I could only drag myself so far! I would knock at the door and that would tell you where it is."

"Why should you have to drag yourself?" Raoul asked slowly.

"I am bound," came my dismal response, "I cannot stir a limb."

At this Raoul gave a yell of fury and I shushed him reproachfully, "You must hush. He is not far from us." My mind flew and flew, "I believe I know where the key is. It's just near the organ with another key that's in a little leather bag he forbade me to touch a long time ago. He calls it the bag of life and death." Panic was beginning to take me, "Raoul! Everything is mysterious here and Erik cannot find you where you are! Go back by the way you came. There must be a reason why the room is called by that name!"

"Christine," Raoul said courageously, "We will go from here together or die together!"

Death…death was all too real and I did not want it. Despite everything, I did not want death.

"Why should we die, Raoul? Is there something you know?"

The two men paused before I heard the Persian speak painfully, "I have found barrels of gun powder hidden all over the Opera, Madame. Just as I had prepared myself to come here and attempt to speak of this with Erik - for I knew it to be his work - M. the Vicomte was searching for you once finding you had not shown up to the Opera at the time of call. As I suspected you down here, we made our way here."

"We were sure we saw him come this way," Raoul exclaimed.

"Only to be led directly to where he intended us to be. I fear that him choosing for an opportune time may mean the performance tonight. Everyone is in very real danger, Madame."

How could I possibly believe this? How could this be true? Gun powder? Planted all around the Opera? And a torture chamber? Oh no, no…who was my husband? Who was this man who I had come so willingly to see? What had I been thinking? Oh! If I had but known! Surely! What had I been thinking to marry a man who intended to hurt so many people? This man who had such capacity to be both gentle and commanding, who I had shared such intimacies with and even enjoyed, and who had supplied me with my every need and more…oh, oh! I knew not what he was any longer! A monster? As Raoul had said? Did he know so much more than me than I knew? What did the Persian know that he never felt the responsibility to seek me out for?

"He means to trap you in-in a _torture_ chamber and-and…?" I asked, sure that I was to faint at any moment. My dress was too tight on my corset with my arms tied behind me as they were. The lights in the room began to make spots on the walls that hurt my eyes. Was this what death would feel like too?

"We must keep cool," M. Khan whispered with an assertion, "Why has he fastened you, Madame? You can't escape from his house, and he knows it!"

"He…" I tried to think, "He told me he didn't want me to leave."

"Madame," M. Khan continued, "He bound you and he shall unbind you. You have only to play the necessary part! Remember that he loves you!"

"Alas," I sighed and the sound reminded me more of Erik than myself, "Am I likely to forget it?"

"Remember it and smile to him. Entreat him and tell him that your bonds hurt you."

The sound of my name exploding around the house silenced all of us. The thunderous noise was enough to nearly make me lose all control of myself.

"It is he!" I whispered pointing head at the wall behind me, "Go away! Go away!"

"We could not go away, even if we wanted to," the Persian said, "We cannot leave! And we are in the torture chamber!"

Tears welled in my eyes and I felt so very helpless. I cried as I heard steps coming closer. "H-hush!" I said at last unsure of who I was speaking to anymore.

Heavy steps were coming to the door and I gulped. Before the door opened I heard him sigh and I wished to be deaf if only I could never hear another sigh from him again. Pushing it out of my mind, something within me reminded me that I had a purpose. I had to save everyone and the only way I would be able to do anything would be by getting Erik to release me from these bonds. _Tell him that you bonds hurt you_ , said the Persian and his accented words echoed around my head. Erik did enter and when he did I cried out in pain.

"Why did you cry out, Christine?" he asked plainly.

I stuck to my resolve. I had to save them!

"Because I am in pain, Erik!"

"I thought I had frightened you." he responded gravely.

"Erik, unloose my bonds…Am I not your prisoner?"

"I would beg you to be my wife," he sighed, but he also began to cross the floor to me, his footsteps heavy and dragging on the carpet. "After all, as we are to die together…and I am surely just as eager as you…yes, I have had enough of this life, you know." His hands gripped mine and I flinched, "Wait, don't move, I will release you… Why wait? True, it would have been grander, finer, but that is childish nonsense…We should only think of ourselves in this life, of our own death…the rest doesn't matter… There, sit up. Are you glad? You're free now."

I did as I was told and looked up at him as he sat beside me on the bed. "Your words…they frighten me, Erik. What is it that you mean?"

"Just think, my dear. Death is a gift. Your good father and benefactor know this. Why not us? And we can bring that gift to so many tonight. They would have seen heaven with your voice if you had not come here first, but now that you are no longer there to give it to them, they will see heaven for all it truly is. However, I imagine the likes of you and me will not. Hell is reserved for the liars and cheats such as ourselves."

His words frightened me so terribly that I found my feet all too quickly. I was running and could not even wait to know if he was behind me. I was weak and my legs shook. My vision blurred and I needed the walls of the hall to steady my balance. Breath did not seem to want to enter my body and I began to choke. Gripping at the door frame of his room and thrust myself inside. Surely, he was following now. Surely, he already knew just what I was up to, but I was not stopped. I kept going. I saw the little leather bag on the opposite side of the organ laying painlessly beside a melted candle. I nearly tripped over the organ bench and snatched it. My force went into the wall with a thud and when I looked up to the light of the hallway, a tall lean figure blocked my exit.

" _What have you done with my bag_?"

 **Entry 50**

With the tiny bag clutched in my hand, the metal of the keys digging into my palms through the leather, I forced myself to stand as tall as possible against the figure blocking my exit. When I did not answer quickly enough, he repeated his question, this time through his teeth, "What have you done with my bag? So it was to take my bag that you asked me to release you!"

"You've been keeping something from me!" I cried out and focused on not toppling over from my exhaustion, "I want to look at the room which I have never seen and which you have always kept from me! I have seen the key hole in the wall and I wish to know for myself!"

"Is that it?" he asked taking a step into the room, "And you believed it better to steal my things rather than ask?"

"You would not have let me seen if I had asked - I know you wouldn't have. So I wanted to see it for myself."

As he took another step inside, my eyes went wild. There was just enough room for me to move past him and get back to the room. It was a rash move, but it was all that I had. Feeling adrenaline push me forward, I all but leaped through the door. As soon as I realized he had not stopped me, my feet picked up and I flew to my room.

"What are you running away for?" he furiously called after me just before I began to hear his long heavy steps on the floor, "Give me back my bag, will you? Have I not told you that is the bag of life and death?"

Once I was inside the room I found the little hole in the wall. It was too high above me! I would need the seat from my vanity. I went to reach for it and noticed that one of the legs was nearly broken. I would only have seconds before I fell, but I had to open the door! I could not let these men die and I could not let Erik hurt anyone! How had I ever forgotten what led me here in the first place? The fire on the stage the day Mama had died! Or the chandelier dropping the night Carlotta croaked like a toad! This was all his doing and it was only the beginning! I had to get to that lock or everything would be doomed!

"Listen to me, Erik," I said spastically as I pulled the fragile seat over to the far corner of the wall, "As it is settled that we are to leave what difference can it make to you if I see what is behind this door?" I attempted to be playful to lighten the mood, "It's woman's curiosity!"

"I don't like curious women," he retorted from the entrance of my room. As I stood carefully on the chair and heard it quake and screech beneath my weight, I heard him come closer even as his words were then quiet and even, "And you had better remember the story of Blue Beard and be careful…" He was at the end of my bed. Closer and closer. I plunged the key into the hole, but could not seem to find where exactly it fit, "Come, give me back my bag!" I trembled and my shaking hand made things even worse in my pursuit. "Give me back my bag!" He seethed just behind me and I whimpered, "Leave the key alone, will you, you inquisitive little thing?"

He began to chuckle and I could feel his presence directly behind me. Just as I thought I felt the key slip into a place it belonged, there was a sound of splitting wood. The key slipped from my trembling sweaty fingers and I fell back into his arms with a cry. Erik scooped me up into his arms and I did not hurt myself in the slightest. If only…if only Raoul had not cried out with me.

Erik looked down at me, his face very close to mine, "Why, what's that? Did you hear, Christine?"

I struggled against him to get my feet back on solid ground, but he held fast, "No, no, I heard nothing."

He looked over me as if he could see through the wall, "I thought I heard a cry."

"A cry?" I continued to struggle against him, "Are you going mad, husband? Whom do you expect to give a cry in this house? I cried out because I fell. I heard nothing!"

"I don't like the way you said that. Christine," he remarked quietly and I felt powerless, "I can feel you trembling, you know. You're quite excited. You're lying. There was a cry and there is someone in the torture chamber. Ah, I understand now!"

Hearing him admit to the room being a torture chamber made my blood run cold. I pushed against his chest, "There is no one in there, Erik! Oh, please, let me down!"

"I understand!"

"No one!"

"The man you want want to marry, perhaps? The one that will damn you adulterous soul to hell?"

"Erik, please!"

He chuckled and walked to the bed. I cried out again when he unceremoniously dropped me on the bed and I then scrambled to stand once more. I watched him remove the key from the wall, scoop the leather bag I had dropped up off the floor, and place both key and bag in his pocket before addressing me again.

"Well, it won't take long to find out. Christine, my love, we need not open the door to see what is happening in the torture chamber. Would you like to see? Would you? Look here!" He pointed up to the lower right side of where the key hole was, but I saw nothing except the wall that had always been there, "If there is someone, if there is really someone there, you will see the invisible window light up at the top near the ceiling. We need only put out the light in here. Let's put out the light! You're not afraid of the dark when you're with your husband!"

As he moved around the bed to where the gas lamp was, I jumped in his path to stop him, "No! I'm frightened! I tell you, I'm afraid of the dark! I don't care about the room now. You're always frightening me, like a child, with your words and when I saw the hole, I wanted to see what was behind it without your words to tell me what it was or wasn't. And so I became inquisitive…but I don't care about it now. Not a bit! Not a bit!"

"My dear little wife," he said standing tall over me, his eyes dancing, and his voice low and secretive, "Don't you know that it is not the dark you fear, but being alone in it? I know this for I am your husband who cares for you above all else. Yes, my love, I know you fear being alone and helpless far more than anything else and so I will keep you close enough to me to know that I am here even in the darkness. Are you ready?"

"No," I begged.

With a merciless laugh, he pulled me into his chest and embraced me fully with the length of his arms wrapped completely around me. There was a very brief moment where I wanted to close my eyes and simply stay locked to him. His words were cruel and ill placed, but that did not necessarily make them untrue. I breathed in and smelled his perspiration. His emotions were just as heightened as mine and I wished and wished that we could only leave and never come back. I had to save everyone - I had to!

The lamp was switched off and I was not looking where the light would be. Erik was sure to tell me that my horrors were readily coming true, "I told you there was someone!" He slipped a hand under my tired head and made me turn to see that there was, in fact, a light shining through a small rectangular window in the wall. "Do you see the window now? The lighted window, right up there? The men behind the wall can't see it! But you shall go up the folding steps that I keep under your bed. They are there to give a peep into the torture chamber, you inquisitive little thing!"

As he forced me to walk around the bed, his arms in place under mine to keep me moving, I asked, "What tortures…? Who is being tortured? Erik, Erik, say you are only trying to frighten me! Say it, if you love me, Erik! There are no tortures, are there?"

We then stood in front of the window and he took my shoulders in his hands to be sure I stayed standing before fetching the folding stairs beneath my bed. He set them up easily and motioned for me to climb them.

"Go and look at the little window, dear!" he bellowed with pride in his voice, "Tell me what they men look like!"

Trembling, I stayed put.

"Up with you! No?" He then tilted his head to the side, "No, I will go up myself, dear!"

Lunging myself at his arm, I stopped him to taking the first step up, "I will go up. Let me go!"

Holding his arm out to steady me as placed a shaking foot on the first step he spoke with painful sarcasm, "Oh, my darling, my darling! How _sweet_ of you! How _nice_ of you to save me the exertion at my age! Tell me what they look like!"

When I had reached the top step, my eyes needed a moment to refocus. It was so very bright within! Beyond the wind, there were walls made of mirrored glass. The floor was covered in sand, and a single black iron tree with long crooked limbs that reached far and wide stood strong and dead in the center of the hexagon room. The tree was reflected so many times that it appeared as if an entire forest were before me. Placing a hand on the wall for balance, I looked to the bottom of the tree and saw two men standing over the roots. If the wall had not been there, I might have reached out and touched them with only a few steps from my part. I looked up again and saw something hanging from one of the branches. My eyes squinted in an attempt to focus on the thin hanging object. I nearly fell backwards when my mind realized it was a noose.

* * *

 **A/N: Here's a little reminder that Erik from the original book literally tied Christine up and threatened to kill _thousands_ of people without remorse...yeah...I had been reading so much fluffy Erik's that I forgot about that. Terrifying!**

 **So...anyway...here's a shout out to amplesound ! I had a nice convo with them this past week on where I got the inspiration from with this story and how it contradicts what I believe in for my own personal morals as a modern-minded feminist... Would anyone else be interested in knowing that? Would you like for me to include that at the end of the story as an extra author's note? I was just smitten that someone would care to ask!**

 ***nudge nudge* Reviews are cool...they are the best food to my fingers when I type these updates... ;)**


	17. Entries 51-53

**My heart broke with this chapter. There are pieces of it in my stomach and I really feel sick. I am just so sad about everything and everyone wrapped up in this awful mess these characters are in :*(**

* * *

 **Entries 51-53**

 **Entry 51**

Knowing that Erik was waiting for my lie, I played along, "There is no one there, dear!"

"No one?" He questioned with sickly innocence, "Are you _sure_ there is no one?"

"Why, of course not!" I said quickly and boldly, "No one!"

He chuckled and I cringed, "Well, that's all right! What's the matter, Christine? You're not going to faint, are you? As there is _no one_ in there? Here," He offered his hand to me and I knew better than not take it, "Come down…There! Pull yourself together as there is no one there! But how do you like the landscape?"

"Oh, very much," I answered slowly. It was not a lie. The craftsmanship of the tree was striking and with the effects of the mirrors, it appeared as any grand forest would with trees going on forever. I made the mistake of looking up into his eyes only to see blazing fire dancing in terrifying whirls of heat and danger. I was so far beyond my own control, but I was not ready to give up on my plight. I was no longer merely responsible for my own miserable life.

He nodded and smiled, "There, that's better! You're better now, are you not?" He ran the backside of his fingers down my cheek and I smiled painfully, "That's all right, you're better! No excitement! And what a funny house, isn't it, with landscapes like that in it?"

"Yes, it's like a work of art one would find in the Musee Grevin…" I said haphazardly stroking his ego and he beamed at my praise, "But Erik, there are no tortures in there! What a fright you gave me!"

He lifted a hairless eyebrow, "Why…as there is _no one_ there?"

I looked back to the window and focused on the light that shined through. I returned to praising his work, "Did you design that room? It's very handsome. You're a great artist, Erik."

"Yes," he answered gravely, "A great artist, in my own line."

A "line" I was not ready to question.

My eyes flashed back to the window, "But tell me, Erik, why did you call that room the torture chamber?"

His excitement returned and he took my forearms in his strong and slightly trembling hands, "Oh, it's very simple. First of all, what did you see?"

My eye cast down in concentration. Was this a test?

"I saw a forest."

"And what is in a forest?"

"…Trees?"

"And what is in a tree?"

"Birds?"

"Ah! Did you see any birds?"

"No…" _But I did see a noose!_

"Well, what did you see?" He led me to the bed and I wearily sat as he knelt before me. He was tall enough on a bent knee that I barely had to look down to meet his blazing eyes. "Think! You saw branches and what are the branches? There's a gibbet!" My eyes widened as he openly admitted the most disturbing aspect of the room. In seeing my reaction he smiled mockingly then took my hand and patted the top of it in false comfort, " _That_ is why I call my wood the torture chamber."

Erik pulled back his head and gave one thunderous laugh.

"You see, it's all a joke. I never express myself like other people…" He stood, walked away from me and placed his hands behind his back, "But I am very tired of it! I'm sick and tired of having a forest and a torture chamber in my house and of living like a mountebank in a house with a false bottom. I'm tired of it!" He stilled and looked back to me suddenly, "I want to have a nice, quiet flat, with ordinary doors and windows and a wife inside it, like anybody else!"

He began to walk towards me slowly as a predator might before the pounce and I was frozen, "A wife whom I could love and take out on Sunday's and keep amused on weekdays… Here, shall I show you some card-tricks? That will help us to pass a few minutes while waiting for the audience to trickle in upstairs." As I knew what awaited the audience I made a move to stand away from him, but he blocked me by taking a seat beside me on the bed and stretching a long arm just behind my back. He leaned closer to me and for a moment I thought he might kiss me. Instead, he pulled back quickly and exclaimed, "My dear little Christine! Are you listening to me? Tell me you love me! No, you don't love me, but no matter, you will. Once you could not look at my mask because you knew what was behind and now you don't mind looking at me at all. One can get used to everything if one wishes. You would have lots of _fun_ with me. For instance, I am the greatest ventriloquist that ever lived. I am the first ventriloquist in the world!"

I laughed nervously. His words were so spastic and strange. 'Fun' was not a word I would describe our time together. At most, it was possible to be content when both of us settled to a task and could merely coexist in peace. I had trouble keeping up with what he was talking about. Was he intending to change my understanding of our cohabitation? Would being this ideal wife in a normal house magically make him into a normal man? It was hard to imagine as I was sure he was set in his ways.

He saw my reaction and smiled wide to show all of his sinister teeth, "You're laughing…Perhaps you don't believe me? Listen."

My mind went back to the chamber. Surely, he was trying to steal my attention away, but it was of no use. Before he could begin his act, I tentatively took his hand in mine and spoke as gentle as I could muster, "Won't you put out the light in the little window first, Erik? I much prefer the lamplight, don't you?"

"Only moments ago you were praising my work. Perhaps I would like to have it on and receive more pretty lies from you?" He reeled back and spoke loud and clear, "Don't you see, my darling? We are perfect for one another! We two lie so often we cannot imagine what hearing the truth would be like anymore! Pray continue. Tell me how handsome your monster is Christine. Tell me how much you love me."

 _How I wanted to_! Even then! If we were two surely die the least I could do was let him know! At least that would be my last shred of honesty before everything ended! But not when he believed me a liar. Oh, how his words hurt! How deeply they gashed into my heart! How could I ever make him understand? How was it even possible when he was raving in such a way, accusing me of being a wretch, and holding countless lives in his hands?

My eyes began to sting, but I could not cry. There was only so much I could accomplish at one time. I tried to reason with him and said as sweetly as I could muster despite my aching heart, "Erik, _please_ , just put the light out in the little window. We do not need it."

"It is impossible! As you say there is no one in there. That clearly makes my great creation is broken. There is nothing I can do from out here and I much prefer staying with my little wife until our end."

"Erik, please, _please_ don't speak like that."

"Perhaps," he so lightly took my chin in his hand and pulled my face closer as if preparing to share a great secret that only I could hear, "I will tell you that I love you? Which horror would you prefer? For you always will have what you desire with me. Do you not see that? You win every time. There is no me, only you. Even in this, you will get what you want. So be a good little wife and let me entertain you. That is my one purpose, is it not?" Both of his hands cupped each side of my face as his head tilted to one side and his eyes narrowed menacingly, "I will entertain my little songbird, to give her wings, and watch her fly, fly, fly…"

It was then that he proceeded to show me the mastery of his ventriloquism and it was very impressive, to say the least. He let me go and pulled away so that I could see all of him sitting beside me just as a casual acquaintance might sit. At first, I watched how his mouth remained still, his teeth clenched together, and he spoke just as clearly as he was moments before. "Where will you have my voice go, Christine?" He asked, his mouth unmoving, "In your left ear? In your right ear?" It was truly as if he had appeared to whisper into each of my ears. The act both thrilled and frightened me. His voice continued to move, "In the side table? And now, _crack_!" I suppressed a jump, "Here it is in the little leather bag on the vanity. What does it say now? 'I am the little bag of life and death!' And now, _crack_!" His voice began to move from corner to corner of the room until my eyes could no longer follow it and I could only listen, "It is in Carlotta's crystal throat. What does it say? It says, "It is I, Mr. Toad, it is I singing! I feel without alarm - _croak_ \- with its melody unwind me _croak_!"

Then his voice was all too loud and excited. He stood and he was everywhere all at once, "And now! _Crack_! It is on a chair in the ghost's box and it says, 'Madame Carlotta is singing tonight to bring the chandelier down!"

Terror filled me as the memories of that night began to come back. All too suddenly I began to hear the screams and smell the smoke. My body was being pushed and suffocated by people running all around me. I had to get out. I had to run too! On its own volition, I stood ready to sprint where ever I could. I was done with the games. I had to be free! He had to free me! He had killed and he would kill again and again and again and I couldn't relive it anymore!

Rough hands seized me and rather than scream I sobbed, but he merely stood behind me, a stone holding me motionless forever, and whispered into my ear, "One last trick, my love, one last show. You must listen closely. _Crack_!" I shivered, "Aha! Where is Erik's voice now? Listen, Christine, darling! Listen! It is behind the door of the torture chamber! Listen! It's myself in the torture chamber! And what do I say? I say, 'Woe to them that have a nose, a real nose, and come to look 'round the torture chamber! Aha, aha, aha!'"

His words seem to encircle the chamber only to make their way out of the little window and land flat in front of me. As I trembled openly, I felt Erik's head lean over to rest on the top of my head. For a moment, all was still. I could feel his heart beat wildly behind me. His breathing was staggered, but his hold on my arms was as strong as ever, yet he did not hold any tighter than what was necessary to make his point. For the first time, I noticed sweat on my brow and realized it was not a cold chill, but from real heat. The exhaustion was catching up from the loss of sleep and the heat made me drowsy. My tension could no longer be held for I was too weak and I let myself relax into the monster of a man that was my husband. He seemed to notice for he pulled me closer to him and sighed.

I am uncertain how long we stayed together like that. I only know that my knees were giving out and I felt faint from the heat. My head gave way and fell back to his chest. To hold me up, his arms moved to encircle me. I murmured, "Erik… I feel faint."

"That is fine," he mumbled.

"Isn't it…isn't it very hot here?"

"Oh, yes," he replied, swaying me a little, "the heat is unendurable."

My eyes cracked open as I remembered the two men in the room just beyond the wall. "But what does that mean?"

"I'll tell you, Christine, dear: it is because of the forest next door."

Finding the last vestiges of strength left within me, I straightened my legs and took what little power in my stance back from him. He let me go and I put my hand out to steady myself against the vanity as I looked back at him. His stance was all-powerful, tall, and broad despite his thin frame. I wanted to shake, but my body could not spare the effort to do so any longer. I knew what little I had left in me must be used for the men in the chamber. I had to help them however I could even if it was only for information.

"What…What has that to do with it? The forest?"

A cruel smile spread over his deaths head as he said clearly for all within the flat to understand, "Why, didn't you see that it was an African forest?"

Then his laughter started. It was cold and low within his gut at first, then grew and grew until his body shook. The sound of mad laughter echoed all around me and I could see flashes of light from the window crashing with the black waters of the lake. The light went on and off in my eyes and flashed so quickly that I felt I was spinning around with the awful insane laughter of a monster. A monster! A monster! My husband had turned into a monster! What else could he be in such a state? Was that place what awaited me in Hell? Uncontrollable flashes of darkness, brightness, laughter and outstanding heat? Beyond me, I could hear Raoul screaming and banging on the walls of his confinement. A small part of my brain called to him to stop, but the plea fell away. Everything fell away.

I do not recall hitting the floor.

* * *

 **Entry 52**

I understand now that I was unconscious for a time, likely hours. I do not remember anything from my blackened state beyond the sounds of estranged far off beasts and not the sort that one might take comfort in. No, these were wild yells of anguish. They were sinister and primal. In hindsight, I suppose I should be impressed that such realistic animal calls likely came from Erik…but certainly not at the time. At the time, such things only added to my terror. Before I opened my eyes I was sure to have heard the sound of a lion in the distance. How would that make any sense? When my eyes had opened I was genuinely confused for I could still see nothing. I moved a little only to find enclosed walls around me. My hands skimmed around my confinement. Soft cushioned fabric met my fingers as I began to make out what it was that surrounded me. The walls were sturdy beyond the fabric and hardly a finger above my head was a hard smooth top.

A coffin!

Oh, how I screamed and screamed! I couldn't stand it! The darkness was far worse than the water had been and _oh_! How had this happened? Had Erik thought me dead? Had my fatigue led to such a strong decision from him? Certainly, I had not ceased from breathing! Frantic, I beat at the walls until my hands, elbows, knees, and feet bruised. I beat and screamed with tears running down my face and choked me. I screamed through the little breath I had and beat past my aching bones. This could not be it! It could not be it!

Not soon enough for my heart to stop pounding through my chest in thick awful thrusts, the top of the coffin popped open and I hardly took a moment to see Erik leaning in over me with a lamp in his hand before I scurried out of the confinement, only to trip over the edge and land on the floor with my skirts wrapped up around my legs. I collapsed and wept as a child might be neither relieved nor fretted. I said things I cannot now recall. Things about not wanting to die, not wanting to be alone, and fearing what lay beyond the world if not Heaven. I could not even conceptualize the idea of going to Hell until that night. I was so certain of my salvation and of having been good and kind for so long. Erik had destroyed all of these thoughts of myself and I was left time and time again fearing what lay waiting for me in eternal damnation.

Erik crouched beside me and set the lamp behind him. I could only make out his profile. He patted my head as one might a dog, "There, there, dear girl. Remember what I said when you first arrived here so long ago? Do you? We must become used to all things. Even eternity!"

My head went to my knees and I held tightly to my legs as my sobs reignited, "I'm not ready! I don't want to die!"

"Not ready for Hell, yet, my girl? I suppose I am not yet ready myself, but no matter. I am a sacrifice to you. All for you, my goddess. Will you take my blood and send me blessings for it? Or is it still only poison even as I lie withering before you? Aha, my goddess, here I am ready to die and you can only think of your own poor life."

Desperate, I sat up and took his hands in mine to pull him closer, "Listen to me." I said through clenched teeth, no longer begging, but demanding, "Please listen. I do not want for either of us to die. We do not _have_ to die. We can live. We can go to Sweden just as we were planning to do. Just us. We can forget all of this ever happened and live. Please, Erik! That was all I wanted. I'll never be ready for eternity, not ever! I'll run from it forever and ever! Erik, don't do this to me!"

"Such pretty words from a lovely but unfaithful liar. Pretty, pretty words all the same. How I once wished to hear them when I thought them to be true. I suppose one cannot help who they fall in love with. I fell in love with a siren, but you my little _harlot_ , you fell in love with someone who is not your husband."

How that word burned me! I was then glad my papa was dead. I was grateful Mama was gone too. How they would have ached at such a word being directed to me! Tears were falling from my eyes fresh and in thick strains. My husband, my husband who I did truly love believed me no greater than a whore. My body rattled and my words jumbled and broke from my mouth.

"Th-that's n-not true -"

"Tell me, Christine, indulge me really," He moved forward and I had to let his hands go to steady myself as I leaned backward. He then began to lean over me as his balance fell to his hands and knees, his unseen face hardly a breath from mine, "Were you lying when you made such pretty sounds in our more private moments? Was it all to make me believe you so that you could give your lips to your young man?"

Heat rose across my neck and cheeks and I wondered if such heat would be enough to dry my tears. Such thoughts and memories I left confined to these pages. I could go a thousand years without being reminded of them. A lady does not utter such sounds…does she? No book on anatomy that Erik had given me had ever said anything about the reactions such actions make. What if I was odd? What if I should have fought harder to stay quiet? Had such things been enough to cause all of this?

Erik continued, "Perhaps you were lying. Perhaps you knew such reactions to my touch would drive me mad for you. Christine, I _ache_ for you. My god, how it tortures me each time I see you. You're so beautiful, you know? I have done what I could to keep myself from you. The first time I felt your hands reach for me I was sure I would never be able to leave you again. But I did. Oh, I found ways to keep my passions at bay. There were nights when I would cut my flesh just to deter the feelings you inspired. I watched your blushes the days following our intimacies and how I dreamed they were inspired by my love for you. Now I know they must have been from your embarrassment to have shown yourself to me when you were holding out for someone handsome to come along. You are a Lilith of a woman to lead me on Christine. Death is all that awaits me after what you've done. There is nothing more."

He pulled away from me and put his hands on his hips, "Death is all that awaits any of us! How exciting it will be to fly right into eternity! Fly, fly, fly!"

I wanted to tell him right then that his assumptions were not true. I was not acting of my own accord during those times. If anything, I was not trying to let him know my true feelings - I barely knew my true feelings! How could I lie in such times where only the two of us existed and he had been so caring with me? My fallen Angel of Music who had first shown me heaven through song had then shown me bliss within myself. But how could I ever tell him that? I was scared of it and his words of death were even more frightening. What was I to say?

Without further thought, I leapt forward and wrapped my arms around his neck tightly before he could pull away. Thoughts of the murder and the monster were ever present, but I could not merely let him do worse. "Erik!" I cried, "Erik, how could I ever lie to you when we…when we…?" My words caught and floundered in my mouth. I finally stuttered, "I-I do not know how!"

He did not return my embrace, "I'm certain, dear girl, that you do."

My composure finally broke and I screamed at him, "What will it take for you to believe me? What is it that you want?"

There was silence where all I could hear was my strangled breathing. He then answered, "I only wish for you to hold me like this before it happens. I will meet my death in the arms of the only one I ever loved. There is no more I could ever ask for."

"No, Erik! NO!" I clutched him tighter, "I swear that if you follow through with whatever it is you're thinking that I'll refuse to let you even look at me before we die! I swear it! But I will also swear that if we could only go and live that I'll hold you every night. _Every_ night, Erik! I will never turn you away. Never!"

"Pretty words, pretty words." He whispered into nothing.

I began to sob onto his shoulder with great heaves. This was all so very hopeless, "Oh, what will it take? What must I do?"

"There is nothing. You have already chosen a life without me."

"But I haven't! I _haven't_! All I wish to do is leave with you and be your wife! That is all I wanted."

Finally, his arms wrapped around my head and lower back. He crushed me to him and spoke desperately, "Even your lies are beautiful, so beautiful that I yearn to believe them with all I have. Oh, my darling, my darling. You are too much for anyone to love as deeply as I love you. Even if it were not to all end tonight, I would surely die from my love for you."

The recent memory of being alone in that coffin rattled me again.

"P-Please, don't say that."

"What? Our death or merely my own? Would you like to be a widow?"

"No!" I pulled away and held tightly to his shirt. I looked into his dimly glowing yellow eyes and spoke as truthfully as I could muster, "Erik, _Erik_ , you were right about me earlier this evening. I wish not to be alone. It is the worst feeling and if there is anything I fear most it is just that. Erik, you must swear you'll never leave me. You must swear to be my husband forever and ever just as you did when we were married. You must!"

"Then what of your boy?" He asked dryly.

My eyes widened. Was it possible I was beginning to get through to him?

"I have no one, but you. When Mama died you were the only one. You are still the only one. Raoul is nothing to me. I only wish to leave and live on with you."

"Do you mean that?"

Hope began to rise in me at his reaction, "Yes! Yes! I mean that with all my heart, Erik!"

"You swear the boy is nothing?"

He leaned away from me and I saw his eyes narrow and I said slowly, "Only someone I used to know. That is all."

"Will you prove this?"

"…How?"

He smiled. He actually smiled. And I wanted to feel some comfort from his reaction but there was no way I could. Something was very wrong in his smile and the hairs on the back of my neck and arms all rose at once.

"You should take pride in yourself, my girl!" He said joyously, "Your words have had their desired effect! I will let you choose and you will make your words real. Are you ready to know how? Are you? It so happens that the curtain will be rising in only five minutes time. Did you know you slept the afternoon away? In my coffin, yes. Did you know? You slept soundly until you started to scream. Don't you feel silly for that, Christine? You were in no danger and your body had already become accustomed to the feel of forever sleep. It was your silly mind that told you otherwise. But now you are awake to decide what the rest of your life looks like! Yes!

"I am going to give you the gift of the second key in the little bag of life and death. Do you know of the small caskets atop your dresser? You have never asked of them before, but I will tell you of them now. The key I will give you will open them both up and inside one, you will find a scorpion, in the other, a grasshopper, both very cleverly imitated in Japanese bronze: they will say your answer for you. If you turn the grasshopper, it will mean you wish to face death alongside me and everyone seated above us. If you turn the scorpion, it will mean you wish to face life with me, which I daresay will be just as terrible for you."

"Why would it be terrible?" I asked, "That is what I told you I wanted."

"But will you be able to live with your guilt? Or would it better to die with it? You see, my dear, the scorpion does not come without a price. If the Vicomte de Changy is nothing to you as you say, then surely you can go through life without him."

"Erik, what is it that you're saying?"

To my question he laughed quite horribly, "Innocent till the end, aren't you, my little wife? Yes, yes, I shall make it clear to you. Prove to me that you want to be with me alone and we shall spare the lives of all those tasteless Parisians who have made existence for you so difficult. Let them go home to their families and drink their fine wines as you and I make our escape. I cannot say the same for your young man. If he means nothing to you the scorpion is waiting for your chapter with him to end."

He had suddenly pulled me up on my feet alongside him and walked me to my bedroom where the light in the window seemed dimmer and the heat had lessened and left a milder muggy feeling. Once I was placed in the center of the room, Erik lit a lamp and held the small unassuming key for me to take.

"I must mention," He said clearly, "Do be careful of the grasshopper! A grasshopper does not only turn: it hops! It hops! And it hops jolly high!" He laughed again and walked to the door, "Five minutes to curtain. Spare me your blushes."

Then I was alone, a key in my hand, and wondering what had become of the men on the other side of the wall.

* * *

 **Entry 53**

My entire body was numb, but it moved all the same. I had to lean on the bed and then the vanity, but finally, I was touching the barrier that held the men in the torture chamber from me.

"Raoul?" I asked quietly to the wall.

His response was delayed and he sounded so tired, "Christine? Christine, are you with us? Do you have the key."

"No," I muttered dejectedly, "Are you alright? Are you hurt?"

"We are fine Madame," said the other man, "But we cannot stress how dire it is that we escape. I do not wish to alarm you, but there are barrels of gunpowder just below our feet. I fear he intends to do the worst!"

I sighed, "Yes, yes, I imagine he does."

"Can you help us, Christine?"

I looked at the cold shiny key in my hand. How simple it appeared.

"Erik has given me a choice. He has told me that I can either save everyone in attendance of the show this evening by turning a little scorpion in a box, but he was unclear what would become of you. In this decision, I would go away with him."

"No!" Raoul howled and my eyes narrowed a little. As valiant as his efforts were, he had no say over my actions.

"What is your other choice?" The Persian asked.

"Everyone dies," I whispered, my mouth dry.

There was a pause as they must have been considering this.

"Madame!" the Persian cried out, "What is it that you will do?"

"I suppose…" I could hear my words, but they sounded very far away, "I suppose the…scorpion is the only…"

"Don't touch it!" He replied quickly and I looked up to where I heard his voice through the wall. He continued, "Don't touch the scorpion!"

Before I could question his reasoning, the door began to swing open.

"I see you have made no choice, my dear. Such passionate words have proven nothing to me!"

"Erik!" The Persian cried loudly, "It is I! Don't you know me?"

With extraordinary calmness, Erik replied, "So you are not dead in there? Well, then, see that you keep quiet."

"Erik-"

"Not a word, daroga, or _I_ shall blow everything up." Erik turned to me and half smiled, "The honor rests with my wife. She has not touched the scorpion and she has not touched the grasshopper, but it is not too late to do the right thing. There," Erik waved his hand over each of the boxes and the lids opened simultaneously, "I open the caskets without a key, for I am a trapdoor lover and I and open and shut what I please as I please." He motioned for me to come closer, "Look at the little dears inside. Aren't they pretty? If you turn the grasshopper, Christine, we shall all be blown up. There is enough gunpowder under our feet to blow up a whole quarter of Paris.

"But, perhaps you will like to turn the scorpion. Then all the powder will be soaked and drowned. I will offer you the handsome present of a few thousand lives above us who have just finished applauding the overture to Faust. You shall make them a present of their lives and they will be just as ungrateful for your gift as they were when you showed them Heaven on the stage through your voice. For, with your own fair hands, you shall turn what you wish and receive just what you desire."

"Erik," I choked, "I have no desires. None, but to leave with you. Please, please let us leave now."

"Then turn the scorpion. If you do not, I shall turn the grasshopper for I am ready to die and unafraid of what awaits me. And the grasshopper, I tell you, hops jolly high!"

"And if I do turn the scorpion? Where does that leave the men in the chamber?"

"They will no longer be your concern, don't you remember your own words? They will no longer be _anyone's_ concern. Tell me, Christine," He straightened and placed his hands behind him, "You remember what it was like under the water, yes? The dream you told me about? Don't you realize that you have never been the one under the surface? No, my girl! You are the one on the shore watching men drown before you! Tell me, what does that power feel like? To see hands thrash at the unforgiving surface only to disappear forever below knowing full well you could have reached out and didn't? You can only make one choice, Christine. Save yourself and all those poor people above us, or follow them into the water to die."

Oddly enough, for the first time since I had fallen prey to that cold water, I now understood what it was to stand on the shore and watch others suffer at my indecisiveness. For once, I did have power and I did have a choice. Erik was a damaged man, a murderer and the only one to take me in. He was a liar and a cheat in words and actions, but someone who shared the dreams I made with my father. When everyone said such awful things about my rise in the opera, he had made sure I looked as a queen might when faced with greatness. He had little expectations of me and yet pushed me towards what I wanted each time. Erik was never the man I believed myself to be with. In look and position and morals, my father and mama would have surely pulled me out before any of this could have begun…but still. They would have supported his care for me. No, it was not perfect or as caring as it might have been, but I had nothing else…and when I was offered something different, a life with Raoul…I found it was not what I wanted or could understand anyway. No…as it was not possible to go back in time, I have things change in my favor, to have Mama with me even a few hours longer than she was, it was only possible to see things as they were and they were without a doubt with Erik.

My thoughts drifted to Sweden. I dreamed of a little house with a view of meadows and mountains. The air there is not thick and black as it is in Paris, no, it is clear as the blue sky. Trees are thick and not sculpted to be anything but wild and free and abundant and the water is so clear one can see straight to the smooth rocks beneath. There was a house that I could see just out of my reach. It was quiet and calm and just far enough from everything I had learned to deal with in the city. A house with flowers that would grow naturally and would not need to be kept in a nursery. And Erik…as much as he did not belong in this picture, I put him there. I gave him a large room with heavy curtains and instruments and books in my house. Sometimes I would visit him in this image and he would look up nod, and I would merely listen to him create and create until the sun peeked through the kitchen windows. There was peace. This was everything.

"Enough time has passed," Erik said and I was plucked forcefully from my daydream and slapped with the cold hard reality of how far away I was from everything I wanted, "Goodbye, my one love. Hop, grasshopper!"

I lunged at him before he could touch anything and forced his hand as close to mine as I could. His face was as unreadable as mine was determined, "Do you swear to me that the scorpion is the one to turn? If I choose you and we leave, it is the scorpion that I would turn, yes?"

"Only if you wish for that leave to be alive?"

"Yes!"

"But what will you do? You still make no move for the scorpion? Then I will turn the grasshopper!"

He freed his arm and began to reach for the grasshopper, but then suddenly pulled me close to him. My mind reeled. This was just how he said he wanted to die! With me in his arms!

"Erik!" I cried.

"Enough!"

"ERIK!"


	18. Entries 54-56

**Entries 54-56**

 **Entry 54**

An elderly woman I had met when I was young and traveling with my father had been asking me questions about where I had come from. This was before we had become acquainted with the Valerius' and it was not too far before that my feet were running through snowy stream banks of the wide meadows of Sweden. Before my mother died when I was hardly three, we had a small home and the woman was asking me about what it had looked like. She meant such questions to be kind as she was traveling and simply homesick, but only a few questions in I began to cry. I told her I was sad because I could remember neither my house or my mother. The dear old lady gave me a hug and whispered in my ear, "Beware remembering too much all at once, child, it is only when you can see your entire past all at once that death has come for you. Showing us our life before we die is its last gift before we enter Heaven. It will surely be a gift for you as you are such a lovely little child."

Erik's arm was wrapped tightly around my waist. His other long arm was sweeping further and further out of my reach. The shiny emerald green grasshopper lined in gold stared blankly into a world it would never understand. Its purpose was none other than to entertain the eye and devastate the bodies of thousands, but that was all. Was I same? Erik's words had made me think such things. He spoke of my having beauty time and time again only to add that my soul was scorched and marked by demons. Was he true? Was everything that led to Erik's outstretched arm to be my blame? When I was judged at the gates of heaven would I be responsible for every name that followed me there?

 _"Erik!"_ I had cried.

For the first time in years, I thought of my mother. She was so fair-featured. Yes, I remembered her. I remembered her so very clearly. Her long wavy hair that was so light in color that it nearly matched the snow. Her features were rather thin to an unhealthy state. Her cheeks were always hollow and never expressed much natural color. It was not for her not eating or being overworked in the garden kept by my home. It was just the sort of woman she was since I knew her. She lived on the strength of my father's love and there was hardly a time when I did not see her smile. I remembered that I had seen her very recently without meaning to. When I looked into the mirror, I saw the same frail woman staring back, but it was not the weakness in my body that caused my eyes to grow wrinkled and weary, it was the weakness in my heart.

 _"Enough!"_

Erik's hand reached farther and was so near the little box that held the grasshopper, but I was caught up in a memory. It was one of my first memories. My balance was unsteady and I had to hold my hands out around me to walk straight and tall. I clutched the doorframe of my papa's small study and watched as he scribbled ink notes and words onto a piece of parchment. He was carrying this task out so intently that I selfishly found myself wanting his attention. Did he not see me waiting by the door? Did he not know I wanted for him to pull me up onto his lap and tell me stories until I fell asleep in his steady arms? Before I could begin to pout, I felt my mother's hand rest on my shoulder. I looked at her with big sad eyes and murmured what I wanted. Her smile. Oh, her smile, such a lovely simple smile that spoke everything I ever needed to hear without a word. She hugged me and then whispered in my ear, "He's writing, love. And when he is done, he will share with you his musical genius."

I pouted and mumbled as a child might, "He plays without writing. Why does he have to write?"

"People write to ensure their true feelings may be recorded. Your papa is making sure that he can express his honesty first, then since it is written down, he may look at it again and again until it stays with him forever. Written words are important, Little Lotte, and one day he will teach you to keep your truths as well."

My poor mother. She was so wise and patient and kind. How was it that I had grown to be everything she was not? She had been everything to my father. Sick as she was, he did all that he could to make sure she was comfortable all the way to the end. She was the first person to make me understand that death was forever. Papa had told me stories of angels and guardians who had taken her to Heaven. He had told me that she would always be with me, but even as he gave me such lovely wishes and dreams, there was a sadness in his eyes and I knew that there was a part of him that did not believe his own words. For years, he went farther and farther away from this real world until he left it for good.

Was my mother there that night? Was she waiting with my father and the Valerius' to show me the way to them? Would they defend me at the gates knowing what I had done? Beyond Erik's outstretched arm was the broken vanity. Parts of the shattered mirror still clung to the wooden frame and when I looked to the glass, my mother stared back. I knew it was her and not myself for she was smiling just as she always did. If only she would open her arms to me! If only I had something I could run to when I felt so very alone!

She smiled through her hallow faded cheeks and through nearly white eyelashes her blue eyes beamed at me in pride. Why would she be proud of me? What was there that I could have possibly done to have her be proud of me? My own husband had referred to me as an unfaithful whore only minutes before. Thousands of people were about to be blown away all because I could not take away two and live with my guilt. Why was she there? I did not deserve her presence there to take me into Heaven. She was too good for me!

 _"People write to ensure their true feelings may be recorded. Written words are important, Christine, and one day you will teach him to keep your truths as well."_

Her words spun in my head. That was not what she had said…she had been talking about my papa. Who would I teach? Who was left on this earth once I was dead and gone? What words had I left?

 _This journal._

Everything was right here. Every terrifying truth since my journey began with Erik the man was all tucked away in these pages…and I had kept them to myself. I began to realize that writing my thoughts was a wall I had been steadily building since the beginning of my marriage. Erik had told me that there would be no secrets between us and I chose to keep one that held many. For so long, the thought of sharing such intimate thoughts with him terrified me, but as everything was about to be dead and gone forever, suddenly there was no more reason to be afraid or embarrassed. If I were to die anyway, why not lay my secrets before him for judgement? It would be one less mark against me in Hell.

 _"ERIK!"_

With everything I had left in me, I threw all of my weight into him. He stepped back to steady himself and it was just enough that he would be temporarily too far away from turning the grasshopper. The arm around me loosed momentarily and I seized his wrist in both of my hands and proceeded to make my way to the closet where my overcoat had been hung up earlier. My journal was just within the side pockets if I could only reach it before Erik jerked away. Three leaps forward, Erik's wrist still clasped desperately in my hands, I was at the door of the closet. I threw open the door and it hit the wall with a crash. The wrist in my other hand was beginning to pull away and I clutched at him tighter than I had ever held anything in my life. Frantically, I found the coat and went for the pocket where my secrets hid. Pulling the journal out so roughly that the coat fell to the floor, I saw the book enclosed in my hand, but it suddenly seemed heavy and large. My hand swung over until it and the book smacked Erik in the chest.

He froze and stared at me in confusion and wonder. My eyes stayed set and determined to his. I did not need to choose the grasshopper or the scorpion. I had another choice. A choice that even Erik was not aware of. I had created it with every time I stroked these pages with a pen. Within these pages lay my innocence. I was not what Erik had made me out to be and I had to make him understand. I was his wife and he would know I had never been anything, but his wife. This was my decision and I had never felt so strongly about anything in my life until that point.

"This is my truth," I finally said, cold sweat beading on my forehead, "These are the secrets I have kept from you, but I keep them no longer. They are yours to do with what you will. I swear to you I am the woman you married."

Erik did not immediately move to take the book from his chest. He kept his gaze to my eyes as if trying to find something within them. And I was not afraid. The eyes that stared back at him were not only mine, but my mother's, my father's, M. Valerius, and Mama, too. For the first time since their deaths, I felt them with me, within me, and protecting me. I was not alone and the feeling was powerful and amazing. Whether I died in minutes or died in years, my peace had been made and those awaiting me were proud. I could live and die knowing that.

"Take it," I said, "It's all I could ever give to you."

His eye's widened then narrowed skeptically, but he took the book and as he did the weight of my world left my shoulders forever.

* * *

 **Entry 55**

Erik stood tall, but with slightly hunched shoulders as he held my old world in his hands. His weight shifted from foot to foot as time passed, but his eyes never left mine. No longer afraid of anything that could happen and finally understanding that I was not alone, I stared directly back to him. Would he dare to choose the path of ignorance only to see that he got his way? I could tell his mind was running so quickly that no words would be coming from him anytime soon. If it took standing in silence for the next four hours it would have been worth it. Most of the people would have begun to filter out of the Opera by then.

In due time, I noticed how his fingers gripped the sides of the leather-clad journal tightly. He began to lower to book to see it fully before him. I stood as tall as I could. Where there once was shame there needed to be strength. No matter the extent of my embarrassment, everything was necessary for him to know now. Such an outburst from him was clear of that. The book remained closed as he merely stared at it. Perhaps he was as scared to open it and read as I was to let him. It began to dawn on me that maybe he was not as confident as he made himself out to be. Was it possible that he would rather decide the worst of myself rather than allow me to express feelings for him?

With these thoughts coursing through me, my hands raised to cover his and the notebook lightly. He looked up to me, his eyes cold and unable to read. Oddly enough, I sighed. I had never felt so liberated. Below my feet were countless quantities of gunpowder, two men were in an "African forest" beyond the wall, and I was standing before the murderer ready to kill them all for simply being where they were, and yet, the peace that surrounded me was so great, that I pushed it forward and prayed that it would work to clear Erik's terrifying thoughts as well. I heard him inhale and noted his composure was no longer as strong as it was.

Using my fingers that laced in between his, I slowly opened the notebook. Seeing my own writing scribbled out gave me another wave of nerves, but I pushed them aside. I chose not to read whatever page we had first landed on. Instead, I took action and brushed the pages to one side and exposed the loose stationary paper at the beginning of the notebook.

 _I have been married this night._

The opening words that would ultimately seal my fate made me gulp and look away. He must have read them too for he there was a sharp intake of air from him. My hand covered the page and I sought his eyes, "I am unable to request promises from you, but if you would, please, _please_ do not react to what I am showing you until you have read it all. Will you do that much?"

He wordlessly looked back to me and slowly, oh so very slowly, he nodded and began to move past me to the door. When he was at the frame, he called back to me quietly, "How long have you been writing?"

"I recounted every significant event since Mama's death."

Placing an arm on the top of the frame to steady himself, Erik replied, "Do you wish for your words to kill me? Is this your play?"

"No," I said, my heart in that simple word, "That's why you must read to the end."'

"You have ruined everything."

"You're wrong. You didn't know everything before. Now you will." I took a breath and finally said what I had wanted to say ever since I arrived some twelve hours before, "I love you, Erik." The words brought tears to my eyes, but I was smiling, really truly smiling, "And if you won't believe what you hear, I pray you believe what you read and that you read it over and over again until it's memorized. Those words are my truth and I'll give them to you again and again until you don't need them anymore."

His back was to me and he was noticeably tense. No words came from him and he did not turn to face me. He merely straightened his back, removed his weight from the wall, and walked into the dark hallway until he was out of sight. A sigh escaped me and I realized my hands had been clasped into fists which had just then been released. I faced the ceiling and took in a breath big enough to fill every part of me. The feeling of renewed life was wonderful and simple and right again. I smiled. And that feeling of freedom was more glorious than I ever imagined it could be.

* * *

 **Entry 56**

Silence filled the little bedroom and in no time at my feelings of peace was destroyed when I heard The Persian speak through the wall, "Madame? Madame, are you still there? It has been quiet for some time."

"I am here," I sighed. Red heat began to spread over my cheeks at the thought of a stranger and an old crush having heard my confession to Erik. I tentatively asked them what they had heard.

"Only that you wanted Erik to take something and then only incoherent whispers."

I sighed with relief. Thank God they had not heard any of what had happened!

"Christine?" It was Raoul, "Are you alright? Are you hurt? I feared the monster would blow make the building explode! He is mad, Christine!"

While I could not fault Raoul's accusations, for Erik had indeed gone mad, I tried to calm the two shaken men, "He is gone for now. I believe I stopped him. If anything, I believe the people at the Opera are safe to stay to the end of Faust. I am still uncertain what will happen to us."

"Madame," The Persian said, "I have known Erik a long time. He is not one to stray from such passions easily. What did you do to have directed him elsewhere?"

"I…" My eyes cast to the floor unsure how to explain what had happened, "I gave him something personal of mine to review: a journal, I've been keeping. And then…I told him I loved him."

A cry of anguish emitted from Raoul, "Why would you ever say such a thing? Have you gone mad with him?"

I laughed at myself, "Perhaps I have. Nonetheless, the people above us are safe for now. That is what matters. I hope that you two may be just as safe soon."

"He will not take such words lightly, Madame," The Persian countered, "He has never heard them in his life."

"Sad, isn't it?" I took a seat on the bed and placed my chin on my hands once they were propped up on my legs.

"He may never release you," The Persian continued in warning.

"I have made my peace with Paris. We had no intention of staying forever."

"Christine, you must find us a way out of here! I'll take you to my flat. We'll get you better in time and we'll be married just as we wanted."

My face dropped. Was I to crush Raoul's hopes just as he was under threat of death? What did it matter what he believed if this were his last night? And yet…and yet I realized that was how I had played with him this entire time. I felt that I had little choice as he was so very forward and desperate to be a charming hero. There he was, five cellars below the opera in a torture chamber for me…but I had not asked that of him. I had not wanted someone to save me. I had been saved for some time and had enough trouble realizing it before everything fell out of hand.

I spoke slowly and tried to say everything I needed to the way it needed to be said, "Raoul, you have been so courageous to try to save me, but I assure you that everything would have been fine. I am married and I will remain married no matter what becomes of me. I am sorry to have not been able to make that clear enough for you before. I only wish that I could have told you to leave me so to have spared yourselves this danger."

"Christine, you cannot mean this," He cried brokenly.

"I do, Raoul. And that is all I can say." My thoughts drifted to their physical situation, "Are you two alright at present? Are you in any physical pain?"

It was the Persian who answered, "No. We are very thirsty as it has been extraordinarily hot here, but we can remain in the barrel cellar where it is cool. Please do not forget about us, Madame. We will need water and a way out very soon. Erik may still use our lives against you."

"I know. I'll do whatever I have to so that you may return to Paris without further harm. If you too are alright for the time being, I believe it would be best for me to go to the Drawing Room. I do not want him thinking I've been talking with you for too long as it might anger him."

The Drawing Room was still a mess of pieces and I had been so caught up in the previous events that I had almost forgotten the awful state of the flat. I imaged Erik to be in his room. I did not want to imagine his reactions to my words and shook them away. While I was unable to right the heavy sofa, I was able to place Erik's armchair and place it close to where it had been before. It crossed my mind to continue to tidy up the room, but exhaustion quickly won me over. Before long, I had curled up in the armchair and had drifted off to sleep and that was where my husband found me almost three hours later.

* * *

 **In response to the last chapter... "Mean" authors leave cliffhangers when mean readers don't see it necessary** **to review. Next time you don't "have time" remember that the average chapter takes me 3-5 hours to write, sculpt, and post.**

 **That said, I wanted to post sooner due to the feedback I received from the last chapter. Thank you. Thank you thank you thank you. It means so much to me that you're feeling as much for these characters as I am and wanted to share your thoughts with me. These last few chapters have been heartwrenching for me to write as I really wanted to give the characters all that they needed to be what I felt made parts of the book two-dimensional.**

 **Entry 54 has been one of my favorite entries so far. I really hope it was as meaningful to you as it was and is to me. That said...we're not out of the woods...yet ;)**


	19. Entries 57-60

**Entries 57-60**

 **Entry 57**

Later on, once I had discovered just how little time had passed, it baffled me to no end just how Erik was able to read my documented pages so quickly! Merely three hours had passed and I found myself in disbelief. How was it possible he was able to course through my innermost secret thoughts in such little time? In hindsight, I am relieved to have thought that the time was later than it was, otherwise my nerves for the people experiencing the final act of Faust upstairs would have been too great.

Nonetheless, I woke with an awful sore in my neck from having drifted off in a straight-backed armchair in an odd position. I am uncertain whether Erik aroused me through a light touch or if it was his glare alone that stirred me to consciousness. Once realizing he was with me in the drawing room, I sat up erect, eyes wide. It was his turn to say something, his turn to decide what our fate would be and I could only wait patiently for him to speak. His mask had been replaced and I found it very unfair that he was allowed a mask and I was not. If I had been clad in nothing at all it would not have mattered in the least. I had never been barer before him in my life. He knew so much of me then and yet _he_ was awarded a mask!

I stayed seated and looked up to him as he stood tall in the doorway. My journal was nowhere to be seen. The silence was too long and an unsettling white noise filled my ears. This was later broken by him clearing his throat.

"Did you mean to give me that book tonight?" he asked quietly, his tone grasping at even speech, but not quite making it.

"I…" I started and the truth of the matter made me cast my eyes downward, "I had intended to never let you see."

"Why?" he rasped.

"I had hoped it would be obvious," I mumbled as my cheeks grew hot.

"It is not," he retorted.

The need to be further away from him led me to slowly cross to the fireplace. I leaned on the mantle lightly to keep my balance and to feel a bigger than how small I really felt, "How could I? You had asked so much of me in only a short time. I had hardly known you in your house a week before we were married. I could not confide such personal subjects to you. I could not confide them to anyone…so I wrote them instead."

"You…" his voice was breaking and he had to continuously steady it as he leaned against the wall for support, "You could have told me…I would have…if you had only said even half of this…"

"Where would I have started? As caring as you have been for my needs, you have not always been one to listen when I needed you to the most." Remembering what I had recorded out of fear and sadness and then to see him before me asking for me to have spoken when he made it so that I couldn't suddenly spur an anger that I did not know had been there. I straightened with the assistance of the mantle and stood as tall as I could with my hands in fists, "For the days you were relentless in making me perform your Don Juan I had no say. I tried to tell you of my innocence, but you frightened me so terribly that I could not do anything but your bidding."

He finally fell to his knees against the wall, his hands clutched the carpet and I could see his shoulder bones from under his shirt, "What was I to believe? A handsome young man of means was trying to steal the only decent thing that's ever happened to me! He will never see you as I do, never _worship_ you as I do! I needed you to stay with me. I needed you to understand the depths of my passions. He is trying to destroy that, Christine! I cannot lose you!"

"Erik," my voice was oddly cold. I did not want him to try and explain himself. I wanted him to be sorry for once, "Despite this and more, you have not lost me. I am still right here. Raoul will recover from this and surely move on with his life. I would never fit into a world like his and there is no kind way to call him a fool. You had to have known this."

"I did not. Not with certainty. What was I to believe when I saw you in his arms? My wife. The wife who chose to marry a corpse was in the arms of someone like that. My wife had chosen to play engaged to him and he believed her."

"Erik, I was trapped! Didn't you read? Paris has created a loneliness for me that I never imagined possible. My fame was criticized in scrutiny, the only one who could offer me any affection was holed away underground writing something that terrified me, and Raoul was the only one who offered me kind words even if they were laced in untrue accusations that made me feel even worse."

"You told him you loved him." He said quietly.

"Because you would have killed him!"

"I still may kill him."

"Why?"

He looked up at me and I began to realize that his anger was about to reach mine and that I had had not charted my course of action delicately enough. "Is it true that he took your lips without your consent?"

I felt my brows knot and I looked down at the awful memory, "It is true."

Erik began to stand, this time he did not need the wall for support. His rise from the floor was slow and intentional and caused a chill to run up my spine. "It was one thing to believe that you were deceiving me, Christine. I cannot simply crack your lovely neck as easily as I might others. You needn't forget I smashed a chandelier over an insult to your talent. I would have broken every hand that so much as drunkenly reached out for you during the Masque if you had but told me. That boy took liberties of your lips - _my_ lips - when you did not desire them opens up an entirely new world of torture that even daroga cannot imagine and I am just in the state to carry every last one of them out until that boy's handsome face is never recognized again."

Things were not turning out to plan…I had wanted to bring our status back to just the two of us and Erik was using my confessions to make further judgments again Raoul. Was it not enough that I really truly wanted to stay with Erik and leave everything behind? Why was it never enough? Before I could think to stop him, Erik was taking long, smooth strides towards my bedroom. I rushed across the drawing room in time to enter my room. By the time I made it inside, he placed his hand just slightly above the scorpion. I froze.

"Now my dear," he spoke loudly enough that the men would hear him from inside the torture chamber, "Let it be known that everyone above us will be saved by your actions this evening! You should be proud of creating your own outlet, however, I willingly state that Vicomte de Changy's blood is not on your hands for I will gladly take it on my own. Can you hear me in there, boy? You came here to steal my wife away, but it is your life that will be taken. And as a gift to _my_ Christine, I will make your death much quicker than I wanted to."

Erik turned the scorpion in one fast troublesome gesture before I could take another step. The sound of large pieces of metal screeching came up from the floor. I instinctively cupped my hands over my hears. Erik pulled his head back and closed his eyes. He stretched out his arms wide and appeared to be praising the noise as if it were an orchestra all its own. Chains rattled and I felt a cold breeze hit me from behind. At first, the sound was like rain, but all too quickly turned into a waterfall. The floor trembled and I clutched the wall. Water rushed below the floor and began to I hear the men in the torture chamber yelling frantically.

They were going to drown all the same as before.

I rushed to Erik and clutched his shirt in an attempt to pull him from his trance, "Erik!"

"The water is up to our knees!" cried Raoul.

"The gunpowder is flooded! Turn off the tap!" The Persian followed.

The men cried out for both of us.

"Erik, what is it you want of me? I do not wish for either of them to die despite everything."

 _"Erik!"_

"You are not god, Erik," I continued, "I have forgiven Raoul. I want only wish to leave here with you."

 _"Christine!"_

"Erik!" Cried the Persian, "I saved your life! Remember! You were sentenced to death! But for me, you would be dead now! _Erik_!"

I could hear the water crashing against the walls beside us. It sounded as if a storm were brewing over an ocean but all in that little room of mirrors.

"Erik, name your price. Name the price for their lives!"

 _"Christine!"_

"Name it!"

For seconds I could hear nothing. The noise had become so loud that nothing was left to distinguish. Erik finally lowered his arms and placed his long hands over my waist. His eyes met mine. My hands smoothed over his chest and my eyes stung with tears. And then, I knew what he wanted and the price was not so high. It was really no price at all. I steadily moved my hands up to his mask and very gently took it up above his head. The mask dropped to the floor, but I could not hear it. My hands moved to cover his decrepit cheeks and I sighed in pity and strange contentment. Erik was more than a monster. He was more than a murderer. And despite everything, I could still see that.

I took a breath, stood on the tips of my toes, and closed the space between. His lips were still and unmoving and I knew him to be thinking painfully fast at that moment. I had to stop his thoughts, had to move him to feel for my needs and when I pulled away just far enough to meet his eyes again I told him quietly, "I still love you, Erik." His eyes filled with emotion and he crushed me to him. He did not kiss me, merely held me to his chest and whispered my name over and over and over.

The onslaught of clashing water began to fade and when I realized it was reseeding under the house, I looked up to see that the scorpion had been returned to its original position. I did not know if the men were still conscious or not for they were quiet, but I knew there was still a chance for both them and Erik to live on.

* * *

 **Entry 58**

Even as Erik had been holding me, I became aware of his intent listening and I followed suit. I was not entirely certain what exactly it was I was to listen for, but I wanted to keep up with Erik whenever possible. Time was not on the men's side. As the water faded from its final stream and back to mere drops, Erik tensed and pushed me slightly in front of him. He looked at me from eye to eye and I wondered if he was searching to see if any lies were left in me. Recognizing what he had chosen to do and then not do for me, I smiled timidly, but warmly in hopes, it might build his faith in me.

"You are not to speak to either of them, do you understand me? Do me that courtesy, will you?"

I nodded and added, "I only ask that if you need assistance that you call upon me. I will not disobey your wish."

"Very well," he looked over his shoulder to the window, "Go and collect whatever towels you can around the house. Make sure the fire is strong. Once you have done that, begin to heat water for tea."

I scampered off to try and follow his directions as quickly as possible. I went to my bathroom, pulled out every towel and towelette in the closet, then placed them neatly folded on the corner of the bed. When I did this, I noticed that there was an opening from my room to the torture chamber. Curiosity overtook me and for a moment I stood dumbly and looked inside. Water was still in puddles all over the black tile floor. The middle tree loomed over everything and I was just far enough out of the way so that my reflection wasn't repeated endlessly in the mirrors.

Erik moved quietly and efficiently within. It was then that I saw the two men lying lifelessly on the hard floor. I feared the worst and could not move. First, Erik went to the Persian and put the back of his hand to the man's mouth. He waited a moment, then, when satisfied, moved over to where Raoul lay and did the same thing. This time, he narrowed his eyes. Roughly, Erik turned Raoul over so that he lay on his stomach. Then, Erik gave a hard shove to Raoul's middle back. I stepped forward in concern but stopped when Raoul began to cough. Too weak to straighten himself, I saw thick water come up from his mouth. It was an awful sight, but I knew it must be a necessary one. Raoul's eyes cracked open for only a moment, then he passed out again. After this, Erik looked up to find me staring at him. He didn't need to tell me to keep moving. I saw enough from his eyes to know not to stay there any longer.

I busied myself with building the fire up. Erik usually did this task and I had forgotten just how messy it could be to properly fan flames. Soot and ashes wound their way onto my hands and skirts and I wanted to kick myself for looking as tattered as I did. I knew better than to make such a mess, but at the same time, I seemed to match the rest of the state of things in the broken home.

Without much interest in me, Erik came into the drawing room. Using what appeared as no effort at all, he righted the sofa that I had had so much trouble earlier that day. From there, he dragged it down the hall and into my room. For a moment, I stared into the empty hall. Tea, I reminded myself, I needed to heat water for tea. I decided it would be best to change into another dress and loosen my corset. It surprised me that so much time had passed and I was still a mess in dirty clothes.

Erik met me in the kitchen just as the kettle was about to scream. He combined loose leaves from different jars and told me to sit with the tea for no more than four minutes, then keep it warm until the men came into consciousness. I nodded, then combined the water with his concoction. It occurred to me that Erik was very calm and in control of the situation. Who was I to think otherwise? I certainly would not have known what to do if I found a man not breathing! An entire month living at a boarding house that was meant to cultivate such life experience in dealing with anything a housewife might be up against and I still felt like I had no idea what to do.

My husband did not stay in the kitchen with me, rather, he decided it best to stay with then men in my room. Before he left I asked if I might change into other clothing. He cocked his head to the side and I knew what the question would be before he said it, "Why?"

I pointed out my dirty state, my perspiration from the previous night, and asked that if nothing else I might have a flat area to place the combs that were falling out of my hair.

"I was under the impression that the boarding house I sent you would have told you not to let your hair down where there are visitors in the house," he said coolly.

He looked at me for a moment and I noticed his eyes thin a little. Was he smiling under his mask? My lips twitched. This was ludicrous. The entire event was bazaar and insane and I was sure that I looked like a wreck of a woman and there Erik was talking about formality. Without further thought, I began to laugh and told him how awful I must have looked. "Would you have your friend meet me in a state like this? Surely, he already believes me mad. Must I play the part as well?"

Erik walked closer to me, "Khan's opinion of you is none of your concern. He is a meddling fool for having come down here and I'm certain he's all too aware of that now."

"Will you tell me how you know that man?"

"That is a long story for another time and I must leave your question at that. Yes, you may freshen up, but remember what I said. No words are to be spoken to either of them."

I reached out, lightly squeezed his hand, and nodded.

It was when I had settled for a plain cream house dress and put my hair only halfway up that I emerged from the bathroom. My eyes found Raoul and I nearly betrayed my promise when I saw him staring back at me through sore painful eyes. I looked around the room then to the door. Erik must have still been in the kitchen. Raoul was beginning to stir, but I quickly knelt down to him and placed my hand lightly on his arm to still him. I smiled through sad eyes and tried to tell him to be still without words. I then rushed back to the kitchen to tell Erik.

Surprisingly, I was given the task of ensuring that Raoul drank a full cup of tea that Erik had prepared. I would have thought that my husband would have wanted me far away from Raoul, but he said that if I wanted the "stubborn idiot" to live that I would need to be the one to get him to drink as he would likely never accept it from Erik. Knowing that there was little time to waste, I carried out my task without a word. Raoul tried to speak, but I hushed him and repeatedly place the cup to his lips until the liquid was gone. The act of drinking was enough to tire him back into sleep.

Sometime later, the Persian also awoke, but Erik took to caring for him. I was merely asked to bring him tea and then I left to try and busy myself anywhere else. When the Persian was asleep once more, Erik gave me the last cup of tea that had been prepared. I drank it without thought. I never stopped to think that it might be laced with something to make me sleep.

* * *

 **Entry 59**

When I woke, I found myself in my bed with a new quilt and sheets covering me. I was very warm underneath it all and noticed I still wore my house dress, but my hair had been taken down from its loose half-bun. Connecting that I was in the bed meant that the men were no longer there, I quickly stood to search for answers for their whereabouts. The fire was bright from the drawing room and I followed it through the hall. My husband sat as casually as he might on any given day with a book laid out in his lap.

"Erik?" I asked quietly, concern written over my features.

"Don Juan Triumphant is buried, Christine."

I nodded. While I was grateful for that beast of an opera to be gone, that was not what I was wanting to know. "And…the men?"

Erik looked away from me and back to his book as if it were of no matter to him. "They are above," he answered, "I returned them to their perspective worlds."

I looked away to try and hide my relief in fear that it might not please him.

"What now?" I asked.

He looked at a nearby timepiece, "Your train leaves at noon. That means you have seven hours to pack what you will need and get to the station."

My heart leaped. _Sweden_! But my excitement was short lived.

"My train? Won't you be accompanying me?"

He sighed, "No Christine, I won't be."

Something very heavy fell in my gut. I began to tremble and fear the worst of the unknown, "Erik…? Erik, what do you mean?"

"I'm staying behind."

"Here?"

"For a time."

His casual demeanor and off-putting tone were enough to drive me to tears and near hysterics. I fell to my knees near the arm of his chair and he finally seemed to look to me with interest.

"Do you intend to leave me? After everything was it all a trick?"

Erik looked at me and scoffed, "By God you have gone mad." His words stunned me to silence. "Do you really think I would leave you after everything that has happened? You told me you loved me: both in print and in word. I did not force that from you. How am I to release you after you damn yourself like that? No, my girl, I'm afraid there's nothing in the world you could possibly do to be rid of me now. 'Till death do us part' is quite literal.'"

"Then why would you stay behind?"

"I need to have security that the stubborn little Vicomte does not feel the need to seek me out again. This is likely that brat's first big failed conquest. He will not take it will. I am also quite finished with Khan. He was rather rude to us, wouldn't you say? Barging in on a man and his wife and bringing along the man who molested you. What kind of dreadful society is this? No, no, I am rather done with it all. If I can't blow it up, I'll jolly well leave it to its own destruction."

"Then…then what will you do?"

"As soon as daroga is back to his wits, I will give him a visit of my own that he surely will not forget. It will be the final performance of my life so to speak. I'll weave a story for him of poor unhappy Erik that will make him cry in sorrow. You'll be the beautiful, tragic heroine who saved the opera and the monster and I will be the villain that dies alone from something drastic. Love. Yes, I'll tell him I'm drying from love. How gothic, eh? And I'll give him a lie so believable that he'll take it as gospel and leave everything be for good. Perhaps he'll make something up of the story and get a poor old journalist to write a happier version of everything. It is much better that Ibe dead somewhere and to people who would likely pursue me otherwise. And then after I have completed what is needed, I will join you in two weeks in Stockholm."

* * *

 **Entry 60**

I must admit that my last number of entries has been rather short. That was intentional. I feel as if I have been writing and traveling non-stop for two weeks. That was the only way for me to have been able to record the horrific events of my last day in Paris. Unlike how it was to be on my own in Paris that last month, traveling on my own has been more enjoyable than I would have expected it. I have had ample time to collect my thoughts, walk streets in new and old countries that I had not been through since my father was alive, and meet kind people who have no idea who I am and possess no notion of all that has happened. The freedom has been exquisite and I have not had to lift a finger for the smallest of tasks.

Erik had arranged my travel very thoroughly. At every train station, there was an attendant from the inn I hold a reservation at who is waiting to take my trunk and escort me to my accommodations by enclosed carriage. Every meal was provided for and I have tasted traditional dishes and pairing wines for every city I've passed. Even as the chair opposite of whatever table I found myself at was empty, I did not feel so alone. I was in colorful rooms filled with lively people, people who were mysterious and likely had stories of their own that may still be more interesting than mine. No looks of anger or malice crossed me and I did not feel people saying awful rumors behind my back any longer. I have felt as any other face in the crowd might and such normalcy has been more soothing than I ever thought imaginable.

It gives me hope that Raoul has left for the North Pole by now. Erik sent me a letter two days before he left Paris stating as much. I have full confidence that Raoul is going to overcome everything that has happened and be all the better for it. I hope that one day he finds someone to match everything he is. I know without a doubt that while we might have made it work in another world, that in this life, it was not meant to be. Despite everything, I know him to be a good honorable man. I wish him only the very best and hope that one day he will only remember our times as children. Maturity proved itself too convoluted for the two of us.

The weather in Stockholm has been very decent. It is not quite spring here, but I am certain that it is only a matter of time before little blades of grass begin to poke through the melted snow. I had forgotten what clean clear air was like. Every breath is new, inviting, and cleansing. I smile often and the color has returned to my cheeks. Swedish is steadily returning to my tongue and I make a means to talk to new people every day either at a market, the inn, or a restaurant to try and increase my skills. There is a level of comfort where it falls in my mouth that French did not. I do not believe Erik is as familiar with the language as I am, but I imagine it will not take him very long to learn.

I must admit to that I am crying as I make these final remarks. This journal has been everything to me, but just as Erik buried his Jon Juan Triumphant, I must do the same with you, my dear thought keeper. I no longer carry such fears and doubts for myself as I once did and so writing them as I have done is no longer necessary. My truth has been made and to the only one it mattered to. I am unsure where life will take me from here, but if anything, I know how I feel and I remember everything that has made me who I am and that is enough.

My husband's train comes in this evening and he told me he would meet me at the inn. I suppose there is nothing more here to say only that I am happy. I am finally at peace.

* * *

 **A/N:** Wow. I have to say that this story has been my favorite to write so far. There have been times when I have been writing that I start crying because these characters have given me so much to convey. I hope I have done justice to these characters in their given constructs and I hope that this story has meant as much to you as it has for me. I thank you all for being along for the ride. To be changing this story over to "Complete" is so very surreal.

 ****REVIEW****

I've mentioned this before, but as this is my last chapter, I'll mention it again. Each chapter takes 3-5 hours to write, review, sculpt, and post. I have had a small team of people who regularly review this work on every chapter that has come out. THANK YOU so very much for believing in my work and sharing your thoughts with me. Without your encouragement, this story may have never been posted in full. To the 45 folks have favorited this so far and the 82 folks who have followed it, I merely ask that you take a minute of your time to leave me your concluding thoughts. I have given you a small chunk of my mind, heart, and soul on this work. I feel it is only fair that you leave me a review.

As requested, I'm leaving a more thorough author's note below for anyone who wants to know about my process and inspiration behind this story. Read if you like. Otherwise...

 ****REVIEW****

 **Closing Remarks:**

The inspiration behind _Madame Valerius Is Dead_ came from when I watched the 2012 Anna Karenina and started to listen to the soundtrack regularly. The love triangle within that story is so captivating and very sad. It becomes a very real decision to live with the excitement and romanticism of a fling or to accept the comfort and stability of the one who loves with more than sex alone. The story of Anna Karenina is so desperate and tragic and the ties between her and Christine began to mesh for me. I began to wonder what it would take for Christine to marry Erik before Raoul was reintroduced into her world. Hence, the title of my story.

Inspiration also came from being a thespian and learning about the history of performers. Living in the late 1800's France held very high (unrealistic) expectations for women. The idea that a nobleman would want a commoner of no means and a lowly performer for more than comfort when it was convenient was outright ludicrous. Sure, it's a great idea for an entertaining love story, but just not realistic. Raoul was passionate and so out of his league on everything that had to do with Christine's situation with Erik. I wanted to create a story where Erik held more strings on Christine's existence then Raoul could ever imagine.

What I tried to convey overall is how things may have been different if Christine had been given the chance to grow up a bit. Such intimacies with someone like Erik would surely age a girl. Not to say that sex alone ages a person, more that, sex along with everything else would sure mature a young Christine into seeing things a bit differently. Christine is waking up to what she needs over what she grew up thinking she wanted (and I'm not only referring to sex, but also stability, care, and encouragement). That said to anyone who has reviewed or messaged me to say that Erik goes too far at times, I absolutely agree with you. The dude has got some big issues that show up at the worst of times. There are so many FanFictions that give us the "gentle as a lamb" Erik at all times. No. No, no, no. That was not who Leroux created (however...I do think it's something the musical and some of the movie adaptations inspired for sure...). This site used to be breaming with novel based dark Erik's and I missed them so much that I reread my favorites and wrote my own in response. So in short, does Erik treat Christine as well as a man in modern constructs should? Absolutely not! If my significant other did even a fifth of the things Erik did to Christine you better know I would walk out without a second thought!

However...once again, this was a different time. Christine was not a modern feminist during this time period. She was a construct of her society and Erik took advantage of this and did what he could to save her from it. That's why they end up together. He is not the best man in the world. He is far from being very sane either. But he gives Christine what she needs in the end and so, we have what we have.

 **Thank you for reading,**

 **the yellow flower**

 **P.S.**

 **REVIEW**


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